


Somewhere Between Life and Death

by TundrainAfrica



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Family, Family Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Rivera Family Bonding, Sickfic, Whump, domestic angst, out of body experience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TundrainAfrica/pseuds/TundrainAfrica
Summary: Dia de los Muertos isn't the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives  from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing starting a new story when I haven't finished the last :P. Oh well, Coco was an amazing story and plot bunnies are very impulsive creatures. Hope you enjoy.

“39 degrees. Sorry mijo but you’re not going out today.”

Miguel sighed in disappointment and lay back in bed as he started to comprehend his condition. He had not  been feeling so good since yesterday when he was practicing with the mariachis in the main square. Many had commented on how he missed notes and cues which was very uncharacteristic of him. Miguel had denied it and attributed his poor performance to an off day. As soon as he got home, he went straight to bed. He thought that it was merely frustration that took the form of drowsiness. The last thing he expected was fatigue and a fever. When his mother finally confirmed that his temperature was above normal, Miguel conceded that yes, he needed rest.

“When I finally get to play music in the square , I get sick.” Miguel muttered as he lay on his side and angrily put the blanket over himself.

“Hey, you’ve gotten sick before Miguel, this isn’t anything new.”

It wasn’t, Miguel had gotten sick many times when he was much younger. Those were normal days when all he was missing was a day of school or a chance to play with his cousins, not a musical performance in the plaza that he didn’t have to keep secret from his family.

“You already played during  _Dia de Los Muertos last month._ ”

He did play the piece during  _Dia de Los Muertos._

Miguel felt his mother’s hand on his forehead. He lay still as his mother kissed him and walked out of the room. As soon as he heard the door closed, he lay on his back and felt his forehead with his hand. It was hotter than usual. He looked at his guitar that was leaning on the wall, just an arm away. He grabbed it and held it close to himself. His head was throbbing and he felt much weaker but he was still strong enough to sit up, hold the guitar and strum. That is if he concentrated hard enough. He strummed the intro of the song he made after the events of last years _Dia de los Muertos._ He has not shown it to anyone outside his family yet and he was planning to play it that night for the first time in public in the plaza.

_ Say that I’m crazy or call me a fool. _

He sang that first part and stopped himself as soon as he heard the crack in his voice and felt the rasp in his throat.  _ Even my throat hurts. _

He had considered sneaking out to the plaza and performing but how could he when he couldn’t even sing properly.

_ Maybe I should take a nap first.  _ When Miguel had fevers back when he was a kid, he would usually sleep and feel better as soon as he woke up. He prayed it would work the same way then.

Miguel propped his guitar carefully on the wall and put the blanket over himself and squeezed his eyes shut. If he slept the whole morning and afternoon, he should be okay by tonight.

He had woken up a few times that day but was still able to sleep a good amount of hours. The only problem was he didn’t feel better when he woke up, he felt worse. At that that time though, he interpreted it as a feeling of just waking up. He was just tired because he just slept and not because his head was pounding or his world was spinning. Miguel wore his red jacket over his shirt, changed to pants and grabbed his guitar. Those movements alone left Miguel exhausted and he found himself back on the bed coughing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath that was interrupted by more coughs.

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was four. They leave the workshop at five. If he didn’t what to be caught, he had to leave then and there and through the back entrance.

He put his hood over his head and snuck out from the backdoor. Even under the hot Mexican sun, Miguel was cold, yet he was sweating. His wet body only making the wind colder. He hug his guitar close. It was a cold piece of wood yet the idea of hugging something still made him feel warm. As soon as his house was out of sight, he slowed his footsteps and stopped every few minutes to cough.

When he heard the faint noises of people practicing their instruments in the plaza, he sped up a little, and put down his hood to get a better view of how far the plaza would be.

“Just a few more steps.” Miguel whispered to himself as he saw an empty bench to the side of the plaza to rest.

As soon as he was only a few feet away, someone sat on the bench and grinned at him. “Sorry muchacho, elders come first.”

If Miguel felt a little better, he probably would have stomped on the old man’s shoes. If he felt a little better though, he wouldn’t have been angry over something as shallow as that.

Miguel walked towards the gazebo in the middle, willing himself to keep straight and to be alert. “Excuse me, I’d like to play tonight.”

“Sure, I’ll add you to the list of performers, you’ll be playing after Julio de los Santos.” The manager pointed her pen towards someone to the side. Miguel could not even focus his eyes on anyone. He didn’t see a reason to, they would always inform him anyway if it was his turn.

He leaned on the wall to the side of the gazebo where they would be performing and slid to the floor. He was in one of the darker and more obscure corners of the plaza, no one would notice him napping there if needed. He watched the performances, one by one. His head was throbbing, his eyes were blurring and he felt like he was losing focus. Three performances in and Miguel found a way to divert his attention away from the pain and discomfort in his body. He would watch the guitarists’ fingerings on the fret and mimic the movements in his own guitar.

Before he knew it, he heard the name Julio de los Santos. He quickly stood up and held the guitar higher only to notice a red speck on his guitar. He touched it. It was wet.  _ Was that blood? _

He took a closer look and brought it to his nose. That was when he felt the blood trickling down his nose.

“Wait, what.” Miguel whispered as he felt the sticky liquid right under his nose. He ran out of the plaza and into an alley. The sun was setting but there was still enough light for him to see his bloodied hands and the specks of blood on his guitar. He cursed his bad luck. He didn’t bring any tissue. He could not perform with blood all over his guitar and his hands. He couldn’t wipe it in his clothes either.

“Miguel! Miguel!”

Most days, Miguel would have tried to run and hide. Hearing his papa’s voice at that time though felt more like a saving grace than anything else even if he knew he was going to get a sermon from his abuelita for sneaking out with a fever.

“Papa, I’m here. Please help.” Miguel said, loud enough for the voice to hear. He heard footsteps getting closer, relaxed and closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was his father whisper  _ Dios mio _  and the last thing he felt was careful hands pick him up.

_Lo siento papa._  



	2. Injections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Check ups and Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response was overwhelming and thank you for all your very encouraging reviews. One of my favorite Christmas presents this year was definitely the encouragement. I'll make sure to reply to all of you! I hope this chapter was as good as the last. 
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone!

Miguel opened his eyes and tried to sit up, only to give up and lay back down on the bed. Sitting up felt  like a chore yesterday but that day, it felt like a feat.

He took a deep breath only to stop himself halfway through when he felt bile rise up his throat, only reminding himself of the gnawing in his stomach. He clutched his stomach and rolled to the side of the bed.

_ I shouldn’t have escaped to go to the plaza yesterday. _

Miguel felt horrible. Yesterday night, his father had found him in the alley corner, covered in his own blood. They cleaned him up and put him to bed but not without lecturing him on the dangers of going out with a fever.

_ You wouldn’t have been able to go home on your own. _

_ You could have died _

Miguel had tried to argue but trying to argue while trying to hold your nose closed to stop the nosebleed with a towel was much harder. In the end, he had given up and instead, had listened silently while his father scolded him on his carelessness and  his lack of common sense .

_ I never found your playing music wrong Miguel but if you’re going to sacrifice your own health and well being for this, then I’d rather you don’t play the guitar at all. _

_ Well , I’d rather die.  _ Miguel had said with enough conviction to make his head spin. He  threw the bloodied towel on the floor and fell back on the bed. He rolled to the side, away from his father and pulled the blanket over his head.

_ Take that back mijo. You couldn’t possibly have meant that _

Miguel didn’t actually know if he did. With his father’s voice ringing in his ears that night, almost in time with the throbbing of his head, he had just wanted peace and quiet. He just wanted his father to stop talking. It was effective. Only a moment later Miguel heard his father sigh and the door to his bedroom close.

He had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep and had woken up with a new set of pains to suffer through.

_ Probably because I'm feeling bad about what I told papa.  _ He muttered to himself. He didn't mean what he said and he felt guilty, this was probably his body punishing him.

He clutched his stomach and bit his lip.  He wanted to throw up, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to die. He breathed into his hand. His breath was much hotter than normal. Did his fever get higher?  

He heard the door open slowly.

“Miguel are you awake?” It was his mother’s voice. “I brought you lunch. You must have been tired since you slept through the whole morning. Thank god the nosebleed stopped. We are going to have to change the beddings though. Mama Elena said the nosebleed was because you went out under the sun with a fever.”

Miguel stayed silent, pretending to be asleep. He didn't even want to attempt to answer, his head was spinning and he felt like he'd throw up if he at the least tried to mutter something.

“Your father is sorry about what he said last night. He just couldn’t check on you this morning. He has to pick up the leather shipments from the station. Also, if you’re feeling a little better---”

_ No I’m not… _ Miguel didn’t know if he said that out loud but soon after he thought that, he felt his mother’s cool hand on his forehead.

“Dios mio”

He heard his mother quickly walk out of the room.  _ “ _ Mama Elena! Where’s the thermometer?”

Less than a minute later, he heard footsteps then someone’s cool hand push him to lie on his back. “Miguel, we need to check your temperature.”

He felt a pain on his shoulders as his back took  the brunt of the impact of the bed on his back. He stifled a cry.

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry mijo. I’ll try to be more careful.”

He felt the thermometer between his chest and  armpit yet he didn’t even have enough energy to recoil from its icy touch.

“41 degrees”

“Miguel what happened to you?” That was his Abuelita’s voice. He then felt her hand push his bangs away from his forehead. “I’ll get a towel. Take off his shirt Luisa.”

He felt his mother hold him close and pull his shirt off. He shivered on instinct.

“Sorry, is it cold? I’ll put the blanket over you first. Your shirt is soaking wet.”

“Here. Wipe Miguel dry first. I’ll call the clinic. Hopefully we can take Miguel there for a check up. .”

_ Doctor?  _ The fever was painful enough, he didn’t want disgusting medicines or the painful shots the doctor would force at him over a simple fever. “No, please mama.” He tried to say as rolled to the side of the bed, away from his mother.

“Miguel. This fever is much higher than normal, we need to take you to a doctor.” She explained

He heard the sound of splashing water and ice cubes.  _ Oh god.  _ He knew what was going to happen. His mother had done the same thing to him when he had fevers as a kid.

The towel was cold and wet and Miguel couldn’t stifle the moan. He probably would have screamed if his body allowed him to but his body wouldn’t let him release anything more than that as if it knew he was going to give out if he expended any more energy on something louder.

After she had finished bathing him with cold water, they dressed him in a warmer hoodie and put the hood over him. “We’ll be taking you to the clinic in a while, you can rest here first.

“Mama, is there a vacancy?”

The conversation between his mama and his abuelita  was inaudible from then on. Miguel didn't care, he didn't have the energy to listen to anyone anymore. He lay in bed and closed his eyes.

It felt like almost a second later when his mama woke him up.

“Can you walk, the car is still with your father. The clinic is only a few minutes away. If ever it's too hard we can ask your cousin to carry you.”

Miguel shook his head and held on to his mother's skirt. The last he'd want is for his cousin to carry him to the clinic and when he's sick and never stop bringing it up during mealtimes.

His mother zipped up his jacket all the way and tightened the hood.

“In case it's too bright, just close your eyes. I'll lead you through the streets.”

The walk to the clinic felt like a trudge. It took so much energy to keep his balance, he had ended up putting more than half his body weight on his mother as they walked down the street.

He had heard whispers, their contents inaudible, many of them may have been talking about him.

“Poor Miguel, did he do something again?” He heard someone say. The tone sounded judgemental

He waited for his mother to reply.

She put her hand on his head instead. “Just keep following me mijo, we’re almost there.”

She had not complained once about having to practically carry her son to the clinic. He would have wanted to thank his mama then and there but not having the energy to do so, he hugged her a bit tighter, hoping she got the message.

“Are you in pain?” She asked.

His first instinct was to shake his head  but he opted it out of it, his head hurt enough as is.

“We’re here.”

The clinic was crowded and hot. His mother held his head close to her as if she understood that the combination of voices and  the horrible acoustics of the room  were excruciating  to his ears. The air was dry, and oxygen felt like a scarce resource.

“We will call you when the doctor can see you. What's the patient's name?”

“Miguel Rivera."

He held on to his mama as she guided him to a corner of the room. “You might be more comfortable here, just lean on my shoulder.”

Miguel pressed his cheek on his mother's shoulder. “Sorry mama.”

“It's alright. We’re your parents. We're just looking out for you. Promise me one thing though, When the doctor asks you how you feel. You tell him what's wrong. This isn't the best time to play macho. Alright mijo?”

Miguel stayed silent and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

“ Hayy... you might end up killing yourself one day.”

**Somewhere between Life and Death**

“A 41 degree fever and a nose bleed. What else mijo? Is your head hurting? your stomach?”

“My head…” Miguel managed to say when he made eye contact with his mother. The latter was looking at him expectantly as if he was going to slap him with a shoe if he said anything synonymous to okay.

“I have my suspicions but we will need to take a blood sample to confirm it. As soon as possible.”

“It's a fever” Miguel whispered, his words barely sounding like an argument.

“And we need to know why you have one.” The doctor answered without breaking his tone of professionalism . He looked back at Luisa. “I'll have a nurse take his blood in the other room.”

“Come with me Miguel.”

Miguel felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see a nurse, smiling at him almost ominously. “To the next room muchacho. It will just be one prick.”

“Miguel go with her, I'll follow. I just have to talk to the doctor.”

His mother’s tone tone said no nonsense and Miguel silently followed the nurse to the next room. As he settled on the chair,  he could not take his eyes off the nurse as she prepared a syringe and attached what looked to be a huge needle.

_ “ _ There's a smaller needle there.” Miguel managed to squeak.

“We're getting blood from a vein so we need to go a bit deeper.” The nurse explained patiently. “You want to wait for your mother?”

“I don't wanna have my blood taken. I can get better on my own.” Miguel whispered.

The nurse walked up to him and put her hand on his head. “We are trying to get you better faster hijo. This will just be one small prick then the needle is out of your body. If you get sicker, they might have to put bigger needles inside you and sometimes, the needle will have to stay inside you for days.”

Miguel understood what she was talking about. When he was hooked on Ernesto de la Cruz, he had watched many of his movies. One of them was a hospital drama where most of the patients in the hospital had that same needle. His mother had one as well when she first have birth to her sister in the clinic. His dad explained to him that it was to help her manage the pain. He always wondered though how something like a painful needle inside someone, actually helps manage pain.

Miguel closed his eyes and gave the nurse a small and quick nod. His head throbbed in protest soon after but he ignored it.

“Alright, I just have to look for a vein, give me a minute.”

Half way through that minute, his mother entered the room. “How’s mi hijo?”

“He's cooperating miss Rivera.”  The nurse replied not taking her eyes off of Miguel's arm. “Great I found a good vein.” She tightly wrapped a blue piece of rubber around the boy’s right arm.

 

Miguel flinched but was quick to hide it.  _ That's not even the injection and you're already scared.  _ He scolded himself and closed his eyes. He heard the dragging of chairs along the floor and felt his mother's arm around his shoulder.

“It’s just a prick.” She said as she caressed his shoulder.

He felt a piece of cotton wiping some cold liquid into his arm.  _ Just a quick prick. _

Miguel was younger back when he had his vaccines so his memory of the injections he had were hazy. Because of that, he almost believed that it would just be a quick prick.

Injections though were never just quick pricks. There was a prick when the needle entered the skin. Miguel flinched but after that he had expected it to be all over and he relaxed.

He had relaxed too early. A second after, he felt this piercing pain as if there was a needle ready to break out of his arm like a rabid python. He opened his eyes instinctively to see the source, only to see blood filling the syringe.  _ His own blood. _

He wanted to scream but all that came out was a squeak, and he had tried to pull his hand away. only for his mother to push it back down.

“Miguel! Hold still!” His mother scolded.

Miguel bit his lip and looked away. He didn’t notice until it was too late but he had pulled his arm back as he looked away.

“Put--” The nurse bit back her curse at the last second but by then Miguel and his mama knew what she had intended to say. They did not have time to feel uncomfortable though because  her curse word was almost justified. Blood had spilled all over the site of the injection and on the table as well.

Miguel lowered his head on the table and bit his lip. The pain was manageable compared to that of half a minute ago. Nevertheless, the pain of this whole ordeal ended up accumulating inside him anyway and Miguel found himself tearing up.

“I’ll get a gauze for the wound. Give me a minute.” The nurse said   


“Miguel…” Luisa said, sounding exasperated, as she wiped at his arm with a tissue.

Miguel almost thought his mother was going to be angry at him. She shook her head and sighed. “At this rate, you’re going to end up running out of blood.”

As Miguel looked up, he almost gasped at the amount of blood. His mother had thrown a bloodied tissue on the side and was at her second tissue. She wiped around his arm, ignoring the blood that spilled on the table. She got one more from the tissue box and pressed it on his arm. “Hold this to your arm. I have to wipe the table.” She grabbed one more tissue from the box and wiped the table.

“You’re lucky we still got enough blood to do a blood test or I would have had to pierce another vein.” The nurse said as she walked back to the table. “We’re going to have to disinfect that wound though.”

She wet a cotton with some disinfectant and gently pushed the tissue Miguel was pressing on his wound out of the way.

“I’ll take that.” Luisa took the tissue from Miguel and clicked her tongue when she saw the amount of blood on it. “This is a lot of blood.”

“Have you talked to the doctor about Miguel’s sickness?” The nurse asked as she pressed the cotton on Miguel’s wound.

The liquid on the cotton was ice cold to touch but it wasn’t as painful as he expected it to be.

“It’s iodine so it shouldn’t hurt.” The nurse explained briefly when she saw Miguel’s quick flinch and look of surprise.

“No, my husband’s the one outside talking to the doctor.” Luisa answered as soon as the nurses attention was back on her.

The nurse nodded understandingly. “I’m not the one who should be doing the diagnosis. I reckon though that they suspect  the dengue virus. If his platelet and white blood cell count come out low then he’s right.”

“What’s the treatment?”

“It depends on how his body reacts to the virus. Many patients easily recover after a few days in bed and proper management of symptoms. I don’t see why your son would be an exception.”

“That’s relieving. It’s my first time having to care for Miguel when he has this high of fever... and the nosebleeds, dios Mio.”

“Most people recover within a few days. I wish the the same for you and your son.”

Miguel was starting to doze off. He felt the nurse wrap his arm in some type of gauze. She handled his arm gently which only helped Miguel doze off deeper.

He didn’t  know exactly when his father entered the room and called them but the trip back home was a blur.

He remembered his father saying something about vitamins and medicines and bed rest and waiting for the blood cell count on the way back to the house.

He remembered his father’s scent a distinct mix of sweat and leather and the warmth of his arms as he carried him inside the house. He heard the inaudible voices of his cousins, aunts, uncles and his abuelita.

He remembered his mom stripping off his hoodie and wiping his face with a warm  towel.

He heard his baby sister call out to them.

_ Mama! Papa! Mig---! _

_ Not now coco, your brother is very sick.  _ That was Mama Elena's voice.

Her cries were heartwrenching and at the same time were hurting his ears and consequently his head. Miguel silently apologized to Coco as he tried to tune out her cries of protest.

_ Mama Elena, can you put Coco to bed? I don't think we’ll have time until later tonight. _

Eventually, the cries were more distant as he felt his father carry him somewhere else. He heard the door slam behind him.

He was in the bedroom.

_ He hasn’t eaten anything at all today. _

_ Give him some crackers, he can’t take the medicine on an empty stomach. _

_ Miguel, please try to eat one or two crackers, then the medicine. _

He remembered the nausea that washed over him soon after he drank it.

_ He’s going to throw up! Quick get the bucket Luisa. _

He definitely vomited out the crackers and the medicine he ate and drank only a moment ago and maybe even of the meager food he ate the day before that. It definitely felt like a lot though and Miguel could not help but feel the emptiness in his stomach. It was weird but there was also an aftertaste of blood.

_ Enrique, don’t you think Miguel is losing too much blood _ ?

_ Check his gums Luisa. _

He felt his mother’s hands on his chin.

_ Miguel if you can hear me, please open your mouth for me, I just need to check something. _

He opened his mouth just wide enough to still be mildly comfortable. He felt his mother’s fingers gently touch the inside of his cheek. “Mama… Bucket…”

_ Mijo, your gums are bleeding. _

“Bucket…”

He felt a hand on the back of his head.

_ Puke here. _

Without opening his eyes, Miguel puked again.

_ The blood is probably from his gums. _

Another hand supported his head and lay him back on the bed. Miguel was exhausted. He gave up trying to make sense of the world around him. The footsteps, the sound of the bucket being picked up, the smell of his own vomit, the taste of his own blood in his mouth  all started to mix together in his head..

_ We need to get him some water. He lost too much. _

_ When are the results of the blood test coming? _

_ Tomorrow. They said it is most likely to be the dengue virus though. _

_ What do we do now Enrique? _

_ We manage the symptoms. We wait. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, he's in a world of pain but this is a driving force for the main plot so hang on Miguel! As always, do tell me what you think!


	3. Triage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, someone brought up the negligence of the doctors in the last chapter. Yeah, doctors make mistakes, nurses make mistakes too. In this chapter, there will be some medical personnel who are negligent. I made sure to google a few isolated cases to make sure the way I handled it was still pretty realistic. From what I know (coming from a developing country myself), emergency rooms and clinics tend to be very crowded, doctors see thousands of patients everyday and they tend to overlook a lot and take shortcuts when taking blood pressure and oxygen levels, especially when they’re in a hurry. There is always a degree of uncertainty when doctors diagnose, thus they are called opinions. 
> 
> I am no doctor although my sister and uncle are. I may make mistakes with the logistics of medicine but I did my best. A lot are from my own personal experience in the ER and hospitalized for a similar illness and visiting my sister on the hospital when she got that illness and when my best friend got it when she was a kid. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the detail and the story as a whole.

 

His body ached.  
His head ached.  
He wanted to puke.  
He wanted to sleep.  
He wanted to die.  
  
He thought of sitting up but stopped himself for fear of further aggravating the pain in his back and in his joints. He only managed to look to his side. The pain was like electricity. It started in his neck yet within a split second, it verberated in all the corners of his body. He had never been electrocuted in his life but maybe if he had, he could have compared it to just that. He recovered after a minute or so and was able to focus his eyes on the guitar on the side.

_I don't get enough time to practice on school days and when school is finally off for the holidays..._

Most days, he would spend mornings working in the workshop downstairs with his family, spend his afternoons in school and would squeeze in practice time only late nights, early mornings or the breaks in between. With school off for the Christmas holidays, he would have spent his afternoons practicing.

Would have.

That small reminder of his current state and of his limited practice time was what gave him the second wind to reach for his guitar.

He tried raising his hand. He managed but the process was slow and excruciatingly painful. He had divided that single action into multiple movements to a least give him time to recover after each.

He put up his arm up and flinched as his elbow joint screamed in protest. He next moved his hand to the side, that time it was his shoulder screaming in protest. He moved his fingers, trying to feel for his guitar. That movement was also painful but compared to the remnants of the pain that was still in the process of subsiding from shoulders and elbows, how his fingers were feeling was almost negligible. He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes. _Why_ _can't I reach it?_

Miguel painstaking turned his head a little more to the side to get a better look at the guitar only to realize he made a grave mistake in calculating the distance. The guitar was still an inch or two away from his fingertips. He felt tears stain the sides of his eyes.

He literally went through pains to get to the guitar, yet he couldn’t even properly reach it. His hand was starting to tremble in exhaustion and he was going to have to retract in painfully or have it fall and end up pulling a joint or even slamming his knuckles on the floor. Miguel didn’t even want to imagine how painful that would be.

He screamed. Using that frustration boiling inside him as leverage, he lunged for the guitar. In the end, he had underestimated his energy reserves and overestimated his body to catch him if he goes off balance.

He crashed unto the floor knees first, his chest following a split second after. He managed to grip his guitar for awhile only to let go, as he instead use his last energy reserves to catch himself before his chin slams on the hard wooden floor and of course, recover from the pain of banging his already sore knee joints on that same floor. The guitar had instead fallen on his back.

Miguel could not tell which was more painful, the impact of the neck of the guitar as it bounced on his back or the sound of the wood of the instrument hitting the floor after that.

He needed to check if his guitar was okay.

“Miguel, are you okay? I heard a—. Why are you on the floor?”

“Mama?” Miguel could not even bring himself to face the door. “Can you check if my guitar is okay?”

“Dios mio Miguel, you should be more worried about yourself.”

He saw her hand reach for his forehead. He tried to recoil away from her touch. “My guita—”

“Miguel, your fever is gone! How do you feel?”

_Am I supposed to be feeling better?_ “Worse.” He answered without hesitation. He didn’t like the idea of visiting a doctor at first but when the pain was becoming this debilitating, going to a doctor and getting a check up was starting to sound like a good idea.

“Are you sure?” He heard the disappointment in his mom’s voice. There was a hopeful tone in it as if she expected him to say “just kidding”, stand up and dance.

He wished he were joking.

“But you’re not so warm anymore. Maybe I should get a thermometer.”

“No… Mama. It hurts. _” It feels like my body is on fire._

“What kind of pain?Your head? Your body? Your stomach?.” She gently touched his right arm, with a gauze still wrapped around it.

Miguel could only whimper in reply.

“Wait… something’s not right.”

He felt a pull on the gauze in his arm and realized soon after that she was pulling on the gauze. He muttered an ugly word as that movement alone felt like she had just stepped on his arm and broke it.

“Puta. What’s happening Miguel… Your arm is all banged up. I’m calling your father.”

His mother swung the door closed but left a creak open, making it much easier for Miguel to hear some conversations. He heard her and his papa talk in hush yet urgent voices. He could not make out the whole conversation but was able to pick out a few phrases.

_Not getting better…_

_Call... the doctor… the results of the blood test…_

_What now? You don’t care that our son could be dying?_

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise. He almost didn’t recognize the voice of his mother who was usually very soft spoken.

_The doctor in the clinic… within a few days…_

_Luisa, you are no doctor. We wait for the doctor’s advice before we take action._

That last voice was Mama Elena’s voice. Her voice was much louder than the other two and her tone meant no arguments.

_If you see Miguel… Understand…_

He heard footsteps. He didn’t want be seen lying pathetically on the floor. He forced himself up, ignoring the pain in his arms.

He glance at his guitar making sure he did not see any unnatural bumps before dragging himself to a nearby wall and propping himself up. He wasn’t in bed but at least he looked more dignified than he was only a few seconds ago.

As his eyes got used to the surroundings of his room and the light streaming from the window, he decided to take a closer look at his arms or at least the site his mom had cursed on. The bandages were still covering a majority of the wound, what made him gasp though was the dark splotches peeking out from where his mother had pulled on a while ago.

He didn’t even have the time to react because soon after he saw it, he heard the door creak open. He hurriedly pulled back the bandage on his arm and started ahead, hoping to look a little more okay than he felt. He knew going to the doctor would be good for him. He didn’t want to have to stay in the hospital though if he really was in a bad state.

“Miguel, how are you? Mama will bring you some breakfast in a few minu— Why are you on the floor?”

Miguel only lightly shook his head in reply. There was so many things he hoped shaking his head would say. He wanted to mention the pain, the fear, the disgust at his current state but all these feelings inside himself could easily be summarized with that one sentence that prompted him to shake his head in the first place. _No I’m not okay_.

“No? Back in bed. Do you need help getting up?” That last question may have been rhetorical because soon after he asked that question, he carried Miguel bridal style and gently lay him on the bed.

Miguel bit back a gasp, a slight improvement from the moans and whimpers of a while ago. His body was not getting any better. He was just getting used to constant jolts of pain that came with every movement.

He felt his father lift his arm and pull at the bandage. “Miguel what’s this?”

“Injection…”

“You have a rash on your leg too,”

_Did he even have the energy to express surprise?_ Miguel stayed silent and closed his eyes, he was in no shape to answer any more question nor did he even know the answer to that question in particular.

“That’s why we should call the doctor already. I don’t care if he’s busy. This is an emergency Enrique.” That was his mother’s voice from the door.

His father sighed in defeat. “You’re right… Make sure that Miguel eats something while I call.” He hurried out the room and closed the door behind him

“Miguel please eat something. You’re losing a lot of weight.”

Miguel opened his eyes and turned to his mother. If only she knew how much he wanted to eat. He just didn’t want to experience the heaving after as his body once again rejects the food.

“You don’t have to eat a full breakfast. Just some soup.”

At that moment, it had dawned on Miguel that he hadn’t kept anything down since yesterday morning and his throat was painfully dry. “Thirsty…” he managed to say as he made eye contact with his mother.

“I brought some water too.”

She propped a pillow on the head board of the bed, and helped Miguel sit up.

She held the cup close to his face. Miguel slowly sipped the water for a few minutes. It felt like a brief respite from his generally painful and uncomfortable condition since somehow all his senses were celebrating that simple comfort.

Miguel couldn’t help but smile at his mother. The latter looked hopeful as she reached for the sopita she had made for her son.

He only managed three spoonfuls before he started to heave.

“No… keep it down Miguel. Please, you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”

When the vomit is already making its way up one’s throat, that persons only option is to swallow it back down. No one really went for that option and Miguel knew that he’d probably feel a lot sicker if he did that. He shook his head remorsefully and vomited on the floor.

He lay back on the bed and rolled to the other side, not wanting to see the mess he made and more importantly because he was starting to tear up. He was starting to feel worse about his sorry state. “Sorry mama…” he managed to say before the tears made his voice crack.

“No mijo, it’s my fault. I’ll get a mop.”

He heard the door open then urgent footsteps coming closer toward the room.

“Get Miguel dressed, we’re taking him to the emergency room.”

**Somewhere Between Life and Death**

It may have been Miguel’s circadian rhythm and the fact that it was a bright and early morning, or it may have been that he had just slept too much but no matter how long MIguel closed his eyes and lay still, he could not go to sleep. Even without showing it, Miguel was conscious the whole ride to the hospital.

As his father left to get the car ready, he had felt his mom gently put his sweater over him. He had heard Mama Elena come into the room and volunteer to clean the vomit and take care of Baby Coco. He had felt his father's arms carry him to the truck, ordering his mother to sit with him in the back.

_There’s a bucket in case he vomits, a blanket..._

His father gently placed him lying down on the backseat of the truck. He felt another hand slowly caress the side of his face before guiding his head to someone’s lap. It smelled like his mother’s hand.

_The closest city from here is Guanajuato. We can take him there. They have bigger hospitals, they’ll know what to do._

His father started the car and Miguel felt the shaking of the car, only worsening his dull headache. He clutched his mother’s skirt a bit tighter.

_What did the doctor say?_

_Take him to the hospital as a precaution._

_The nurse said the dengue will pass after a few days with just bed rest._

_I told that to the doctor on the phone. Apparently some kids are just unlucky. Some cases become worse soon after they think they're healing._

_Have people died because of this?_ Miguel heard the crack in his mother’s voice.

Silence. Miguel knew his family was uncomfortable mentioning the inevitability of death and its relation to still living family members. His father must have nodded though because soon after his mother let out a soft sob.

_I’m sorry Miguel, we should have taken better care for you._

_No mama, you were taking good care of me. He wanted to say. He was the one at fault for having left to go to the plaza when he was supposed to be resting._

_Mama Elena had taught our family not to rely much on hospitals and doctors.She said hospital treatments only drained resources unnecessarily. Most sicknesses were easily cured with bed rest and some medicine from the village. You were able to recover after giving birth at home._

_That was giving birth Enrique, that is practically routine for women. This illness isn’t routine._

_Yes I started to understand that when the doctor was shouting at me over the phone to take Miguel to the hospital. But I can’t help but think, what can a hospital do that we can’t do at home?_

_I don’t know. I’ve heard about the dengue virus but I don't know much about it. This is my first time seeing it this close to me but I’m not taking any chances with our boy._

**Somewhere Between Life and Death**

Waiting in an emergency room in a bigger hospital in Guanajuato felt almost similar to waiting in the clinic yesterday. The only difference was this time, they were in the city. The ER was crowded, open, loud and very very hot. Miguel was almost tempted to ask his mother to carry him to the nurses desk

There was a woman there busy filing papers and handing them to the nurse on the desk beside her. She pulled out an empty one from the desk and handed it to his mother.  
  
“Contact Information, medical insurance, here.” She pulled out another paper and glared at Miguel as if he were more of an inconvenience than a job. Miguel was almost compelled to apologize for just standing then and there.

“Alright boy, name?”  
  
“Miguel Rivera”

She pulled a thermometer from under and stuck it in his ears roughly, Miguel flinched in surprise.

“Temperature Normal”

She grabbed a machine from the side,pulled it to the center , wrapped his arms in a cuff and pushed a few buttons. Miguel felt the cuff tighten and for a while felt nervous that it was going to crush his arm.

“Blood pressure normal. He’s standing up and walking. Any other reason you came to the ER?”

“My son was sick for a few days, the doctor in the local clinic said it was dengue…”

The nurse continued writing on the form without looking up. “Number 5 Follow up check up. We will call you when we have a doctor available.”

“He had these nosebleeds, a high fever, he couldn’t keep anything—-“

“A doctor will see to your son later. Please wait in one of the seats there. We will call you when someone can attend to him.” She reiterated.

“But, Miguel hasn’t bee—-“

“Mrs. Rivera, I hate to interrupt but there are other people waiting to be assessed behind you. It’s a busy morning.”

“How long will it be?”  
  
“It will depend how urgent these cases are compared to your son's. If you can't wait, you are free to go home and treat this on your own.”

The nurse’s tone implied no nonsense and no arguments. Even his mother, Luisa Rivera who has been able to hold her own against her father and mother-in-law the past few hours was left speechless. Miguel let himself be dragged by his mother to one of the seats to one corner. There were other seats in the middle but he also personally preferred the one his mother had picked. It was surprisingly serene despite the constant sounds of opening doors, crying children and doctors barking orders.

Luisa helped Miguel into a seat then sat beside him, guiding his head to her shoulder. From his view in the back of the room, without angling his head or moving his eyes, he had a perfect view of the entrance to the ER and the nurses desk a few meters away.

He distracted himself by watching people in the emergency room come and go one by one while leaning on his mother’s shoulder. He would follow someone as they came into the room, waited, stood up and were guided to the big doors on the other side . He knew time would flow much faster if he slept so he was constantly waiting to feel the need to yawn or lean deeper into his mother’s shoulder, a possible sign that if he closed his eyes, he was sure to fall asleep. He dozed off a few times while observing a child on the way out with a casted arm, two people in a stretcher on their way in and a woman ready to give birth who was also on her way in.

He noticed that soon after the woman came in, she was rushed through one of those door, right after the two people in the stretcher. For a while he wondered why the woman who was giving birth got to go first before distracting himself with another patient. He had gone through a child with a nose bleed, a toddler with a flu and someone his age who looked to be flushed with fever.

“Enrique, did you notice the child with the nosebleed went inside already? didn’t he arrive after us? How long have we been waiting?”

“An hour and a half already. I know the hospitals have a system for this.They know best.”  
  
Miguel felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it hard and he flinched slightly.  
  
“If you feel like you can’t handle this wait anymore, you have to tell me okay mijo. There’s just a lot of patients this morning.”

If he had to go through this wait yesterday morning or even just this morning, he may have told his mother then and there that he couldn’t handle it. It was as if though his body had given up on telling him he was sick. The nausea was there but he hadn’t thrown up anything anymore as if there was nothing else to throw up. His headache and joint aches had dulled to something he could choose not to think about if he focused his thoughts instead on the woman who had a kettle stuck in her hand. His fever was also gone. He was just tired, very very tired.  
  
Miguel spared some energy to say “okay” so as for his mother to know that he was still doing okay. For some reason, she sounded like she thought he was dying.

Maybe he was. Those words popped into Miguel’s head and he bit his lip, mentally wiping out that very thought. Dying wasn’t supposed to be like falling asleep on your mother’s shoulder in an emergency room. It was supposed to be like what happened to Papa Hector, an indescribable pain in one’s stomach or dying in one’s sleep at the age of 70 like Mama Imelda.

He leaned his head more on his mother’s shoulder, turning his head slightly and burying it into her sleeve. The throbbing in his head was concentrated in the front and smelling her familiar scent almost relieved the pain or maybe it merely suppressed it. He couldn't tell. Not feeling anything was almost starting to feel like a luxury and he was just taking what he could.

He felt his mother's hand on top of his head and the rise and fall of her chest underneath. It turned out the steady rhythm of her caresses and the rise and fall of her chest was all he needed. Soon after he started to feel it, he started to doze off.  
  
Within seconds, he was asleep in his mother's arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think there are some inaccuracies with chapters in terms of setting, realism etc, do tell me! I may not correct it soon but I will take note when I review the story and rewrite. 
> 
> Tell me what you think! Praise? Criticism? Writing style? Ideas for fluff?


	4. Admission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admissions, Rules and Sneaking in Musical instruments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the enthusiastic responses to this story! I hope this chapter is still as good as the rest.
> 
> Alright, a lot of you have been saying the story has been slow. I was going to pick up the pacing in this chapter but it would have been like 7000 words if I did so I hope you're willing to wait the next chapter to see the plot. I just needed some mini fluff first and to finish fixing the setting.

        “Four hours?!”  

      Miguel opened his eyes, as the shoulder he was leaning on suddenly jolted and his ears rang with the sound of his mother's voice. 

      “Shhh… Lower your voice."

        “No. Miguel should have been inside long before the child with the nosebleed or the kid with the broken arm. What did the nurse say? Why did they let them go first?”    

         “It's ER rules we can't complain.”  

         “But we still have a right to know why they're not calling him yet… Excuse me!”

          “Luisa! What are you---”

          Miguel heard heels clacking on the floor and it was getting louder and faster. He quickly closed his eyes again hoping nobody noticed that he was awake for a moment. If his mother was going to start a fight with a nurse, he didn't want to be part of it.

            “Hello, may I help you?”

           “Why hasn't anyone called my son yet. We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

            “What's your son's name? We’ll ask a the front---”

             “No need, my husband already asked. They said four hours but it shouldn't take this long.”

             “Sorry it's been very busy. That means there  are people much sicker…”

              “My son is sick too.”

              “I’m sorry, I wasn’t the one who assessed your son. Let me just call the nurse who assessed him she might be able to help. What's your son's name?”

               “Miguel Rivera”  

                There was a clacking of heels that slowly faded into the other noises of the emergency room.

                 “Luisa what are you thinking?” 

                  “It is our right to know why they’re making us wait this long.”

                  “They will call us eventually."

                 “Four hours is a lot of time Enrique. A lot of time for Miguel to get sicker.”

                At the word  _ sicker,  _ Miguel felt a heave creeping up his throat as if it was reacting to the word. He held his breath forcing the heave back down. This was no time to worry his mother anymore. Soon another clacking of heels was audible and like the ones of a while ago, it was getting louder as its owner came nearer.

               “Hello,  Miguel Rivera right? I talked to the nurse  in charge. No fever. No apparent symptoms. Blood pressure is within normal range. She classified him as non- urgent.”

               “Non urgent?!”

                 Miguel felt his mother's chest rise. He slowly pulled away, feigning sleepiness. As far as they know, he was just shifting sleeping position from his mother to his father. He was in no way waking up and capable of participating in whatever scuffle his mother starts.

                His father put his arms around him. He kept his eyes half open and watched his mother make her way to the nurses desk in the front as the nurse who had informed of the long wait, watched helplessly from behind her.

              “Hayy, Luisa…” His father muttered.

              Miguel watched the scene in front of him with half opened eyes, letting himself relax as his father caressed his shoulder with one hand. He cringed internally as he watched his mother slam her hands on the table and waved her hands at the nurse. Her back was to him so he couldn't even guess what she was saying.

          He thought if he tried he could possibly make out part of what she was saying. He heard her voice but it was hard to make out the words when many people were talking at the same time and the words were easily swallowed by the other voices and the horrible acoustics of the ER.

          After his mother gesticulated what looked like intimidations and threats for less than a minute, the nurse eventually sighed in defeat and pressed a button on the desk and talked into some sort of intercom. A nurse guided them through the big doors only to another room which looked to Miguel like an extension of the waiting room outside except much quieter.

         His mother had helped him walk the stretch of the  rooms. He wasn't surprised though when he started to feel a tightness in his chest as they walked. He was exhausted after all. 

        The nurse led them to a stretcher on the hallway before saying something to his mother in soft whispers. Soon after she left, Luisa helped Miguel on the stretcher. 

         “It's not much, but at least you're more comfortable.”  His mother said as she sat in front of him, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

          Miguel had lain back on the stretcher at first but as he noticed that gravity was only adding to the heaviness on his chest, he opted to turn to the side facing his mother. He made eye contact with her even with his heavy lidded eyes. It was at that moment of eye contact that he wheezed and the fact that his breathing had been heavy and slowly getting faster since a while ago became apparent. And his mother noticed.

         This time she didn't bother asking her son how he felt. She ran to the nurses desk. Miguel followed her with his eyes. The nurse had her head down and Miguel couldn't tell if she was talking to his mother or ignoring her altogether.

         “How are you feeling?”

           Miguel could see his father's face from his peripherals. He shook his head without taking his eyes of his mother. He didn't want to worry them anymore but he didn't want to lie either. Instead he picked  the safest option and kept quiet. Besides, he didn't know if he could actually say anything else without it coming out like a wheeze. 

           He closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep so he could forget the ominous tightening of his chest. It was scary. It had started off as a dull ache but it had grown to be its own monster. He closed his eyes tighter, willing himself to fall asleep. He held one hand to his chest and grabbed tightly at the skin on top, as if it was possible to rip off his skin and give himself space to breath.  The dull pain in his stomach was also starting to make itself known  once again

         He tried to imagine other things.

        He wasn't sick in the ER. He was back in the Dia de los Muertos only a month ago. He was playing music for his abuelita, his cousins, his parents and his baby sister Coco. He couldn't help but feel he had taken for granted when he ever felt that good.

          He imagined the feeling of his fingers on the guitar. His right hand would caress the nylon strings before he starts playing. His left hand was always a little more uncomfortable having to press the fret the whole song. It was painful when he first tried it out but the years of playing made the tip of his left fingers harder and these days, he wouldn't notice the pain at all.

_ Does it work with this type of pain too?  _ He thought to himself. It was a stupid question and  he didn't bother answering it.

          He moved on to his favorite part of playing the guitar. The touch was magical on its own, just imagining it was a good distraction from the tightness building up in his chest, and for a while, he felt like it alleviated the pain. Like for all musicians though, touching the instrument was only the rising action to the climax of actually creating the music. The happiness that made itself known through silent shivers and a gradual quickening of one's heartbeat the music was not from touching the instrument itself but from the excitement of knowing that in a few seconds, they will be creating something beautiful.

           Just listening to music alone is something else. It had the power to manipulate feelings and memories, it soothed, it healed, it amplified, it alleviated, it aggravated. It could do almost anything to someone with the write melody, lyrics and harmony.

           What Miguel soon learned after he started learning to play his own music was that touch also amplified his wonder. Similar to adding a left hand to music, it added an extension to his senses, something else for them to indulge on and he couldn't help but marvel at his own capability to play the melodies, coordinate them, create harmonies and finally, create music.

            Because of his simple and strictly musicless upbringing, he couldn't pick up the theory of it. Words like tonic, supertonic, submediant and subdominant, although vital to music theory flew over his head. To be a musician though, science and theory were only secondary.

           Although Miguel did not know the names of the notes, he made up for it with his spot-on ears. He knew by heart the sound that each string made when pressed on a certain fret, knowledge he picked up through endless nights experimenting with his guitar. His ability to point out the notes after playing came up after listening to Ernesto de la Cruz songs and trying to hit the right note on the guitar again and again and again until he was able to mimic the melody and harmony on his guitar down to a T. Good ears make a good and very useful skill when songwriting and at his age. After many years doing the same thing and maybe through some inborn talent, he had developed ears good enough to create his song and plan the guitar accompaniment within minutes without even touching the guitar.

        That was what Miguel decided to do the next few minutes to distract himself.

         At first, it was difficult to imagine the soft  cloth of the bed cover of stretcher was in any way similar to the hard wood and nylon strings that dug into his skin. When he was closing his eyes and starting to doze off, it started to become easier. It was no feat at all for his mind to imagine something it had been doing everyday for years.

_ Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool. _

__ The tabs that he had created long ago played along in his mind as he started to sing.

_ But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you. _

_          When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song. _ __

_            And you knew every word and we all sang along.  _ __

He knew the melody created by his tabs  by heart and he found himself adding along to it as his fingers played an extra melody in time with the instrumental in his head. He had created one for his cousins Abel and Rosa almost a year ago when the music ban was uplifted and they hesitantly mentioned that they wanted to learn to play music and started learning to play the accordion and violin.

The twins had been starting to show interest in music only recently. Their mother had been talking about investing in a piano. If they learned soon, they could definitely join in their Dia de los Muertos performance. As he thought about it, he found himself pressing the frets on his imaginary guitar, creating a new melody to teach his cousins when they learn to play the piano.        

 _To a melody---_ He felt a pain on his chest and ended up hacking and wheezing. It was only then did he realize that he had started singing aloud. 

    His chest had been filling with something and it was climbing up his chest and his throat. He had mistaken it for excitement and joy at first. His cough had brought him back to reality. It felt like he was drowning.  _ How could he be drowning when his throat was so dry?  _ He did not have much time to ponder that because, what had been filling his chest was trying to make its presence more known. It was pushing itself up his chest and throat.

          “Hey. Hey. You okay?”

            He felt his father's hand lightly tapping on his cheek.

             His eyes were wet. He had been crying. 

“It hurts. Make it stop.” He finally said. Or at least that's what he tried to say. What came out was a wheeze or a gurgle.   __

_                Luisa! _

__ He opened his mouth and tried to inhale some oxygen and get air into his system but as if he really was underwater, his mouth had filled with liquid instead. If he were a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have tasted the blood but as he tried to sit up, his only thought was to spit it out.

_ Miguel! Spit it out here. We need some help! _ __

__ After vomiting, he lay back limp on the stretcher. __ He didn't bother opening his eyes anymore. He was exhausted. He wasn't asleep yet, he knew he was still in the emergency room. He continued to hear the hushed voices and feel the stretcher under him but it was as if his brain was having difficulty associating creating contrasts between what he felt and heard.  _ Was it his mother? Was it his father? Or was it the nurse talking? _

               He heard distant and urgent voices, footsteps coming closer. He heard someone, screaming and crying.

                He felt someone putting something on his face, he felt the cold air around his mouth, he inhaled the air almost hesitantly. He could have said that the air he was trying to inhale was more welcoming than that of a while ago and the tightness in his chest dissipated only lightly. At that point, it felt like an indulgence to him. Someone took his hand and and slip it inside a board. Soon after, he felt a prick on his left hand. He would have wanted to pull away but it felt as if his body didn't have the energy for that anymore. Staying limp felt like the most comfortable decision at that point.

_ Start him on a simple solution, we need to first treat the dehydration. What's his blood type? _

More urgent footsteps. He felt another poke on his other hand. 

_ Have them send the blood results as soon as possible. We might have to run some other tests. _

_             We administered some sedatives through an IV _ . _ It’s best that he's asleep during the tests… _

_       We will need you to sign here to authorize the tests… _

_           Some procedures may be invasive but we will make sure to take good care of your son. _

              The last thing Miguel had pondered before finally falling asleep and losing all awareness of his surroundings was who they had been talking about when they said 'your son.’

**Somewhere Between Life and Death**

_ Dengue fever _

_ That's what the doctor  in the clinic said yesterday. He didn't have to undergo that many tests did he? _

_ His complete blood count points to dengue but the disease had progressed far too quickly than most patients. We had to make sure it couldn't be any other virus. If we give him the wrong treatment in this condition, we could kill him. _ __

__ The first thing Miguel took note of was that the tightness in his chest was gone, his head didn't hurt. He didn't need to vomit. He was breathing. His mouth was wet.  It didn't feel like he was cured though. It felt like a trade off. The pains of a while ago were replaced once again with a new set of discomforts.

His body felt sore. It wasn't like the searing pain his joints and bones of yesterday. He just felt bruised and tired.  The sensation was the dull type reminiscent of unhealed wounds that only made themselves known when pushed and prodded but on any regular day were quiet and behaved. In some way though, it was different but Miguel could not put a ring on why he felt the way he did.    

           He tried swallowing some of the moisture from his mouth only to choke on it half way through. He couldn't stifle the cough that followed.

_ He's awake. _

__ Miguel opened his eyes at the sound of his mother's voice coming from just a few inches away.

          Before opening his eyes, his soreness felt was spread out, a conglomeration of discomforts that he could not comprehend. As he took in his surroundings and the numerous wires that seemed to be connected  to many parts of his body,  the discomfort he was feeling started to take a more distinct shape.

           The first thing he noticed was the mask on his face.  As he tried to put up his hand to feel it, he felt something pulling on his hand then someone's gentle hand pushing his hand back down.

           “Mijo, you scared us back there.”

            Miguel looked to the other side to see his father and a man in a lab coat. His father was sitting on a chair by the bed while the other man  stood along the foot of the bed.

           “It’s an oxygen mask.“ He explained as he pointed at his own mouth.”You were having a hard time breathing.”

            Miguel looked expectantly at his mother and father. _ Am I getting better?  _ He wanted to ask. He was getting impatient. He wanted to go home, sleep on his own bed, spend Christmas vacation in the plaza or playing with his cousins. He wanted to play his guitar again. Heck, he was even excited to go back to the workshop and make shoes.

           The doctor cleared his throat.  “We gave you something to help you sleep back in the ER and you slept through all the tests. We were able to confirm the dengue virus. It’s a little more aggressive than the normal one.”

          “What's the cure?”  His father asked.

          “Like all viruses, there's no cure. All we can do is keep him alive until the virus passes. Watch out for complications…”

           Miguel had wanted to ask  questions, he wanted to listen and comprehend what the doctors were explaining to his parents. It felt like such a feat though to say anything loud enough that it won't get drowned out by the whirring and beeping of the machines next to him.

Also, when the doctor started mentioning words like sedation and endotracheal intubation, he found himself dozing off. It was  too much of an effort  to make sense of the medical jargon the doctor was spouting out every few words.

            Distracting himself with the tubes and wires surrounding his body was much less an effort. He understood the big one that started at the mask on his face connected to a machine on the side. He followed the tubes that were connected to his hand. One was connected to a colorless solution, the other to a bag which looked like it contained blood. He quickly looked away in disgust  and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he was going to be there and how many more tubes or wires he had connected to his  body but he knew it would be gone much faster if he was asleep the whole time.

           He relaxed on the bed and let the steady  beeping of the machines put him to sleep. It was much easier to sleep on the bed than in the ER and in his condition, it felt like his body was actually begging for the rest.

         He didn't know how much time had past but every now and then, he would wake up to a nurse taking some more of his blood through what looked like another tube  or changing the bags that fed into his hands.  Most times he woke up, it was his mother by his bedside, brushing his bangs off of his forehead, telling him to go back to sleep so he could recover faster.   

            He wasn't keeping track of the time though and  it may have been a few hours or a few days later when he woke up to his parents arguing in soft whispers in the corner of the room.

_Enrique, I don't think those are allowed in the ICU._  

_ This is a single room anyway. As long as we play softly, we shouldn't be a bother to the other patients. _

_          What about Miguel? He might not be able to sleep properly if we make too much noise. _

_           Luisa, do you remember when Miguel played a song for Mama Coco? _

_           Oh? When she recovered enough to tell us about her father?    _

_            Yes, I found the song. It’s a stupid idea but… what if music can actually help Miguel recover faster? _

__ Most times Miguel was lucid enough to hear the conversations between his parents and the doctor or between themselves, he would let it pass and go back to sleep. What had caught his attention with that conversation was that his father had possibly brought his guitar to the hospital.

         He opened his eyes a bit to see its familiar white shape in his peripherals. His father was at his bedside fiddling with it. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably in the toilet or something. No one had noticed that he had opened his eyes for a while and he quickly closed it to keep the peace. His chest was starting to hurt and he didn't think he was up to responding to the fussing of his parents. Besides, he wanted to listen to his father play the guitar.

         After a few minutes of just lying there half asleep, he heard his father take a deep breath.

_ Remember me. Though I have to say goodbye. _

__ His father was strumming at all the right syllables but Miguel couldn't help but notice that the chords were all wrong. At some parts, his father was pressing too many frets that the chord came out completely different from intended or he wasn't pressing them hard enough to hear the actual change in the pitch of the strings. In some parts, he would hear the vibration of the strings but not the melody. In some parts, his father was actually playing the wrong notes.

        If his chest wasn't starting to hurt and he wasn't falling deep into his exhaustion, he may have given his father pointers or pointed out the errors in his playing.  __

         Instead, he had allowed himself to give in to the most recent dose of sedatives, attributing the chest pain to just another feature of the dull pain and discomforts of the whole hospital ordeal.

       A fatal mistake.

       The next thing he remembered was erratic beating and urgent voices. He couldn't make sense of what was happening but he had recognized his mothers cries. He saw some nurses at the sides of his bed that short moment he was lucid.

       They pulled out wires and tubes. He remembered being carried by one of them then the feeling of the bed moving under him, the creaking of the stretcher as it moved, footsteps following the stretcher and his parents urgent voices.

      As his eyes started to narrow  from the bright white lights, his ears strained to hear the urgent questions of his parents. The words were mostly inaudible but as a nurse started to fuss with the IV line and he started to lose consciousness, he was able to make out a few of what the doctors saying.

_ Mr. Rivera, Your son's body is a mess. His heart is working overtime… _

_         You may not like this but it may be the only way to keep him alive… _ __

_         Is there any other option?  _ It sounded like his mother's voice. She sounded like she was close to sobbing.

_        We understand that this is a difficult decision to make... _

_Do what you need to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story should pick up after this chapter.
> 
> If you were able to get through this, thank you so much. Do leave a comment if you can. Any praise or constructive criticism is highly appreciated! Really hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.


	5. Living and Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and just reading a product of my shameless fangirling. As you probably know, Coco won best feature animated film. To celebrate, I decided to post a chapter bedore the end of the day cause I’m ecstatic and my plot bunnies were on Red Bull.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

  
The first thing Miguel had to note when he opened his eyes was that he felt good. It didn't feel like the type of good he felt sleeping in after a long day or indulging in sugary sweets like jericayas and galletas during big family events like Noche Buena and Dia de los Muerto. In actuality, it didn't feel like anything particularly good or concrete. It felt like nothing.

After more than 48 hours though of dealing with pains that ranged from searing to piercing to mild discomfort, somehow the absence of pain felt even better than sleeping in or overeating desserts.

He opened his eyes and sat up, appreciating that smooth and painless motion he had missed. It was dark save for the light that streamed through the window which may have been coming from the moon or the street lights. The light was dim and many shapes and colors were still hard to make out. Through it all, he managed to make out the shape of his mother sleeping on the sofa, made more visible by the rise and fall motion of her body.

“Mama.” He said. He had raised his voice but to his surprise she did not budge.

She must be tired. Miguel thought to himself as he turned his attention towards the guitar leaning on the wall next to the door. He had been wanting to play the guitar since he had listened his father play it while half asleep and he knew that that would be the first thing he'd do when he finally had the energy to sit up and play.

At that moment, he had more than enough energy.

He climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake his mother up. He grabbed the guitar, tiptoed towards the door and opened it just enough for him to be able to quietly slip out.

The dim lights and the sight of his mother sleeping on the sofa had made him think that it was late at night. The hallways though were still far from empty and Miguel was starting to guess that it was around seven or eight in the evening. There were two nurses walking the stretch of the hallway. At first, he had tried to avoid being seen by them but they had seemed nonchalant about a patient walking around with a guitar. After a while, he relaxed. He made it his first mission to find a place to play his guitar.

 _Maybe the rooftop?_ He thought to himself as he walked the stretch of the hallway. It was his first time in a hospital that big but he could easily ask for directions or just read the signs to get there. First he had to figure out what floor he was in.

He didn't have to wait too long to find out. He had reached the end of the hall, only to see a nurse at the front desk, talking to what looked to be a visitor.

“Sorry, visiting hours are almost over.”

“The nurse downstairs said that visiting hours end at 9. It's 8:30.”

“This is the intensive care unit, the patients here are much sicker so visiting hours end much earlier.”

_Intensive care unit._

That was one of the few words Miguel had figured out the meaning of while he listened half asleep to conversations between his parents and the doctor.

_So we can easily monitor your son, we had him admitted to the intensive care unit…_

_As soon as his condition starts improving, we will have him moved to a normal room._

Miguel shook his head as soon as the doctors words echoed in his head. He was already on the road to recovery and being sick was one thing he never wanted to remember again.

If he felt good though, why was he still in the intensive care unit? Maybe he was moving to a normal room the next day. Maybe his room was in a different ward and he just didn't notice.

Miguel was already turning around, ready to walk back to his room and check his room number and ward and maybe wake his mother up when he heard a familiar voice.

“Of course I'm angry!” The voice was muffled but he had been hearing that voice his whole life and he could recognize it anywhere.

“Mr. Rivera, please calm down.”

“No I can't… My wife….”

The two men lowered their voice and Miguel strained to hear their conversation. He casually walked in front of the nurses desk, sneaking glances at the many doors, trying to pinpoint where exactly the voices were coming from.

He traced it to a door to the left of the nurses front desk.

Miguel snuck a glance at the nurse to see that her head was bent down and she was concentrating on something in the computer. He couldn't help but feel proud about his own ability to remain unnoticed. For a while, he wondered if he could still remain unseen if he tried to lean behind the door and listen to his father's conversation. He settled for huddling behind the wall and picking up what he can. If the nurse looked up and found him, he could always say he was taking a walk and he got tired.

He was lucky. The walls of the room were thin and he could make out most if not all of what his father was talking about.

“We admit, this was a mistake on our side. We're waiving most medical fees and are doing our best to undo the damage.”

“I don't care about the medical fees. My wife and I just want our son back…”

“You have to understand though, there is a possibility he may never wake up.”

_Never wake up?_

“But I am awake!” He had screamed without even a second thought. He put his hand to his mouth, looking up at the nurse at the front desk.

She did not even look up.

The problem was his father sounded too sure, too negative about it that even Miguel wondered whether he was really supposed to be awake or not. As he pondered the possibilities and implications of the conversation on the other side, he could not help but recall the small hints of a while ago that supported one of his more radical hypotheses. His mother hadn't heard him when he tried to wake her up a while ago. The nurses on the hallway were nonchalant about his being there, the nurse did not look up as he screamed loud enough that in most occasions, his parents would scold him for raising his voice.

_This can't be…_

Miguel hurried back to the room, taking two strides worth of steps at a time. He opened the door to his room, this time the whole way. Light streamed into the room and a white guitar was leaning to his left near the door, like a duplicate of the one he had in his hands. He dropped his guitar in shock and watched as it disappeared into the duplicate on the wall. 

_What's happening…_

He looked to the shape of his mother. He went nearer to her and only then did he notice that she was curled up, leaning to the side in a very uncomfortable position. He put his hands on her shoulder. “Mama. Wake up. Tell me you can see me.”

Tell me I’m fine. Tell me I can go home by tomorrow. He wanted to say but the words got caught in his throat and all he felt was a sob making its way up to his mouth. .

“Mmmmmffff…”

Miguel let go of his mother and swallowed back the sob. His heart was starting to beat fast as he watched the shape of his mother get bigger and longer as she stretched and sat up. He was hopeful for a mere few seconds.

“Who would leave the door open like that …”

Miguel could only stand there powerless as he watched his mother make her way towards the door and close it. She then turned on the lights and walked towards him.

Miguel didn’t even bother to make eye contact with her, he knew even as she looked back that she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at something behind him. There were only too many reasons why his mother was seeing right through him and why her eyes were red-rimmed and her gait, slow and clumsy as she walked through him.

As he started to make more sense of what was happening, he started to see and hear the other hints that were only supporting his hypothesis. He could hear clearly the steady beat of the monitor and the whirring of the oxygen in the machine and wondered why he had not put two and two together when he first woke up.

Of course, no one would expect to not be in their body when they first wake up.  
  
He gave himself a few seconds to mentally prepare before looking back but even as he did, he couldn't help but crumple to the floor in shock.

Right in front of him was a body held together by tubes and wires, one connected to a blood bag, another to a medicine bag. The most ominous tube seemed to be the one running down its throat while an extra wire ran through its nose.

His mother remained silent as she put the blanket a little higher over his chest and brushed his bangs off of his forehead. As she did, the face on the body became much more visible and all the tiny slivers of doubt on the identity of the boy on the bed dissipated.

The boy on the bed was him.

 _Calm down Miguel, this has happened before…_ He thought to himself, trying to tame the panic that was starting to come over him.

 _That time was different, you never had to stare at your body like this. A_ nother part of him answered. In the end, the panic had won over him. He wanted to cry, he wanted to faint but at the same time, he was terrified of losing consciousness again, not knowing where it could take him.

“Luisa we need to go home.”

Miguel almost jumped. He looked back to see his father closing the door behind him and walking towards his mother, once again passing right through him.

“But parents can stay here overnight.”

“Yes, you stayed almost a week already.”

“Miguel might wake up… The doctor said before they put him in that coma, as soon as his body starts to heal, he’ll wake up on his own.”

“He’s not waking up tonight!”

Miguel flinched at the sternness of his fathers tone. He looked towards his mother who looked as surprised as he was at his sudden change of tone.

She quickly got over her surprise and narrowed her eyes at her husband. “How could you say that about your own son?”

“This is not about Miguel anymore, I’m worried about you, I'm worried about Coco. How do you think our daughter feels? You haven't so much as looked at her since Miguel got sick.”

“You’re acting as if you don't care if Miguel wakes up or not. So what, are you asking me to abandon our son, just let him die and raise our daughter instead?”

“That's not what I said.” Enrique said, he raised his voice loud enough for Luisa to realize the urgency and authority of his tone. He walked up to Luisa and placed both hands on top of hers. “All I'm asking is for you to be a mother to both of our children. Miguel is not our only child, we have a daughter waiting for us at home. He'll still be here when we come back. If he wakes up while we're out, the nurses can contact us.”

Miguel watched as his father slowly pulled his mother into a hug. The latter looked like she had gone limp in his arms. As Miguel looked closer though, he saw that she had merely buried her face on his shoulder. A loud sob soon followed and Miguel watched as his father pulled his mother into a tighter hug,

Miguel stood up and walked towards his mother, hugging her from behind in the hope that she may at the least, feel his presence through a sudden bout of warmth. He could have easily gone through her as if she or his father wasn’t even there. _Or as if I’m not even here._ He corrected.

He was able to put his arms around his mother but it didn’t feel at all like he did. For some reason, even when he knew that he was not in his body anymore, he had expected it to be like before. Back then, he would put his arms around his mother and he would feel that familiar warmth and softness. There was always that faint scent of leather mixed with that day’s breakfast unique to his mother that would linger as he got out of the hug. When his mother was pregnant with Coco, he also remembered the feeling of the hard belly on his hands as he’d hug her from behind, mocking him for not having arms long enough to hug his mother all the way.

At that moment, it felt like nothing and Miguel felt almost idiotic for attempting to hug air. He closed his eyes and continued to hug her anyway, clinging to that small possibility that he would feel something and more importantly, she would feel something.

He didn’t know how long he had stayed in that hug before his mother spoke up.

“I really tried my best. I don’t want to lose him…”

“This is not your battle anymore Luisa. It’s Miguel’s.”  
  
The sobs died down and MIguel opened his eyes to realize that his arms had gone through his mother and he was really hugging air.

 _It’s my battle now._ Miguel said, echoing the words his father said only a moment ago. He made his way to the other side of the bed. All he had to do was get back into his body right? Without looking at his body, he held his hand out and put it through. For a while, he had expected to feel a sudden chill or a sudden bout of warmth, something different, some sign that he was going back inside his. All he felt was nothing and he was starting to feel a little more frustrated.

 _Come on._ He pushed his hand a little more only to realize that he could already feel the floor underneath.

Am I supposed to jump in? Miguel pulled out his hand and stood up, ready to jump into the bed, only to end up falling under.

He shook his head and climbed out from under the bed and settled on sitting on the floor and bringing his knees to his chest as he watched his mother and father pack up some dirty clothes, some food.

After his father finished packing the bag, he grabbed the guitar from the side of the room and slung it over his head. “We should bring this home already.”

His mother shook her head. “You're the one who said that music could actually cure Miguel. Who knows? It might actually still work.” She took the guitar from her husband and leaned it on the wall right next to bed. “Besides, he's going to need something to do when he wakes up.”

  
**Somewhere Between Life and Death**

Miguel walked besidehis parents, all the way until the elevator. In truth, he didn't want to be alone. He had considered going with them all the way home but stopped himself. A part of him did not want to risk going too far for fear of losing all chances of getting back into his body. He was going to use that time alone to find a way to get back

There should be a way. He thought back to the Dia de los Muertos a year back. If he wasn't in his body, that meant he might be able to access the Land of the Dead. It was easier the first time though,back then, he wasn't lost with nowhere to go, he found his family soon after. More importantly, he had met Papa Hector and Mama Imelda and they had helped guide him back home to the Land of the Living.

This felt like a whole different problem altogether but being lost as he was, Miguel decided to approach it the same way he did the last time.

“Excuse me! Does anyone know how to get to the land of the dead?” Miguel screamed as he walked through the halls of his ward. All he needed was one person to hear him. He was actually hoping someone would scold him as he ran down the halls screaming the same question again and again. “Land of the dead? Can anyone hear me?”

_Did he have to go to a cemetery? Did he have to go to a morgue?_

Miguel’s mind was racing as he repeated that same question, making his way to the nurses desk. He was planning on sneaking a glance at a map of the hospital or map of the city, All he needed to do was find a path to the Land of the Dead, then look for mama coco or Mama Imelda or Papa Héctor. They would know what to do.

“So you’re the boy making all that noise.”

Miguel didn’t want to look behind him for fear of being disappointed if it turned out that the voice wasn’t talking to him. “Are you talking to me?” He asked, his tone still hesitant.

“Who else could I be talking to? I don’t see any other boys here.”

Miguel looked around him to see that the voice was right. The halls were already empty save for the few nurses walking the halls checking on patients and the nurse on the desk who still seemed pretty engrossed in whatever she was doing in the computer.

“You can see me?” Miguel slowly looked behind him as he asked that question still wary of being disappointed, As soon as he was face to face with the man though, Miguel knew he didn’t need an answer.

“Yes, I can. Miguel Rivera.”

The voice belonged to an old man very much past his mid life crisis and he was definitely making eye contact with him.

Miguel sighed in relief as he walked towards him slowly, determining along the way whether he was someone he could trust or not. He had hoped to meet someone he knew like Papa Hector or Mama Imelda but at that point it seemed like a long shot and he was desperate. He could’ve probably even settled for a man in a ski mask and battle axe.

The man though looked far from dubious or sketchy in his old age. His plump body only made them looked fuller though. He looked like the type of old man, anyone would be happy to have over for Christmas dinner. He had the type of face that naturally looked friendly. He didn’t need to smile to look approachable and when Miguel first saw him, his first instinct really was to talk to him. It was his second instinct that made him wary but soon enough, he had brushed it away,

The man had on a blue sweater and pants. His cheeks were sagging due to old age but his plump figure and naturally smiling face only made him look all the more approachable.

“Wait, why do you know my name?”

“I know the name of all the patients who pass by here. You’ve all the nurses have been talking about the past week. A dengue virus that had gone awry.”

Miguel narrowed his eyes as he instinctively started to count the number of the days that had passed since he snuck out to the plaza. “What day is it today?”

“18th of December, Saturday.”

“So I’ve been in the hospital the whole week. That felt like a few days.”

“Believe me, you were a sick boy.”

“Why can you see me?” Miguel continued to press.

“Come, let’s sit somewhere. You must be tired.”

Miguel was not tired at all. He wanted to keep moving. Moving around would feel like progress. As he thought about it a little longer though, he realized that staying in that man’s good side might be a more progressive move and Miguel followed him to the chairs in the waiting lounge without arguments.

“I’m like you.” He explained as soon they were both settled on their chairs. “I’m a soul that hasn't crossed over.”

“Wait, so you're dead?”

“Do I look like a skeleton to you Miguel?” He asked between laughs.

It was only soon after the man finished laughing did Miguel realized what he had asked. _Obviously I'm not dead either._ He thought back to the sight of his body on the bed. When he imagined his mother and father though and how he had tried to hug them, he realized though it still felt like he was.

“What are we then?”

He shrugged. “Somewhere between living and dead I guess.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best ending but there was one other reason why I pushed Héctor Back. It’s about the general structure of the next chapter and this is getting too long. If you want a clearer explanation, I can probs post in the comments or in the next chapter.
> 
> Anywayyyy hope you enjoyed. Do take the time to leave some feedback if you can!


	6. Persuasions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I was so hesitant to post the next scene below is because it may be triggering to some so I needed to put a warning here. It's not bloody or scary but it does tackle sensitive topics but none of the conversations mentioned below reflect my views on death and family.
> 
> If you're starting to feel uncomfortable when reading the conversations on death and family and philosophy below, you may skim through that part until you reached the italicized sentence 'i give you time to decide.'  
> If you wish to read the scene, just proceed as normal. 
> 
> I'll leave a summary of that part in the end note.

The man had introduced himself as Rodrigo but at that point when he had apologized for forgetting to introduce himself, Miguel could have sworn they had known each other their whole lives.

Rodrigo had a charisma to him Miguel couldn't explain. His parents could have scolded him for talking to a strange and exchanging life stories  but Miguel could have still continued talking to him and listening to his stories even against his parent’s wishes. He had a way of telling stories that made Miguel feel like he was being introduced  to a new perspective towards life. It may have been the way he peppered his stories with commentary about the very delectable tamales he had eaten that day or about the old woman he had helped on the street. The gestures he would make when telling his stories only made Miguel more interested in learning every small detail about his life.  

By the time he mentioned his name, Miguel already knew that he had lived in Guanajuato his whole life and his family had abandoned him to live in Mexico city, some of them had even left to become US citizens, leaving their old man behind.

“Why would they leave you though?” At that moment, Miguel was still fathoming how children could abandon a father like that, let alone someone as nice and charming as him.

“Ambition.” He explained. “Two of my children wanted the American dream. They had tried to take me along. When I had a heart attack I became unable to travel so they left me.”

“How could they…”  The concept of an American dream wasn't anything new. Growing up in a small town in Mexico, he had heard that term many times. He grew up knowing the names and faces of almost every person who lived in Santa Cecilia and even some that had just passed by. As he grew up, some would disappear and as he asked his parents where Señora Lucia or Tio Roberto were. They would mention something about immigration, EEUU and following the American dream . There were some kids he played with in Santa Cecilia whose parents lived in the EEUU. They were celebrities when  they visited and they used to tell him and the other kids about how they would eat In-n-out burgers and fries everyday, how they lived in houses with white picket fences and how the leaves turned red in autumn and how it would snow every Christmas. He had only tried in-n-out burgers once when his parents took him along on a day trip to Guanajuato. He had also seen glimpses of life in the EEUU on TV when Ernesto dela Cruz would travel there and in the soap operas the women in the family watched. In a way he understood the ambition of Rodrigo's children since even he wanted to try living there.

“But to abandon your family like that…” Miguel muttered. He would chase his dreams but he would never consider abandoning his family along the way especially after what he had learned about his family during last year's Dia de los Muertos.

“Baaa… Family is just a word. Do you know the only reason your family takes care of you is because if they don't, they can be arrested. If they abuse you , they go to jail. If you die because they were careless, they can also go to jail. In a way, you can say, people are forced by law to be families.”

“Why are you telling me this so suddenly?” Miguel asked. He was trying to maintain his composure as he asked that question, but even with all his effort, he couldn't stifle the quiver in his lips. That comment had caught him off-balance.

“I thought it might give you a little perspective.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re feeling good, you're looking good but you seem unhappy. Were you trying to stay alive? Back then, when you were on the hospital bed what were you thinking?”

It was only natural that Miguel attempted to recall the whole ordeal and consequently his mother and father's voices.

_ I'm not taking any chances with our boy… How are you feeling… Is there any other option? _

What wasn't natural was the pain that reverberated through him afterwards. He was generally not supposed to feel pain or weakness in his out of body state yet he started to feel the pounding headache, the nausea, the excruciating pain and stiffness in his joints, the piercing pain of the injection, the gradual tightening in his chest. It was as if that week's worth of pain was crammed into one full blown sensation.

“Are you okay? You doubled over for a minute there.”

Miguel only noticed a split second later that he had screamed. He looked up at Rodrigo and quickly apologized. That sudden bout of pain and panic had felt like hours at the least and only when his mind started to clear did he realize that it had only been a second. He looked at his arms and his legs to see that he was still in one piece.  _ What happened?  _ Was he going crazy? Miguel could see Rodrigo in his peripherals still looking expectantly at him. He wiped away his troubled thoughts and thought back to Rodrigo's question.

_ Were you trying to stay alive? What were you thinking? _

That bouts of excruciating pain only made the memory more concrete and it was as if Miguel was laying on his mother's lap and the hospital bad once again.

“I wasn't trying to stay alive…” Miguel said slowly. His mouth was going at the pace of his mind. Like most people, he knew how he felt and he could recall it all as long as he tried but he was a bit slower in putting into words. “I just wanted the pain to stop.” His eyes widened as he started to comprehend what he said.

“That’s what you wanted and you got it. The pain is over. You don't have to feel that pain ever again. Then why do you still look so sad?”

“Because I don't wanna die…” For some reason, the answer sounded pathetic and he could only look away trying to rack his mind for a better one

“And why don't you wanna die?”

As Rodrigo asked that one question, Miguel's first thought was his family. He pictured his mother once again sobbing on her fathers chest. He heard his baby sister Coco trying to call out his name.

_ He wanted to go back into his body because his mother was crying, because his father was shouting at the doctor that he wanted his son back. _

His first thought was family, his second thought was his dream to play the guitar. He didn't want to lie but at the same time, he knew what answer Rodrigo was looking for. It was starting to feel like a game and giving in to Rodrigo's train of thought was practically surrendering. He didn't know why but he was sure he couldn't surrender to easily. “I have stuff I still want to do.” Miguel answered with conviction, laughably inappropriate for his grade school answer.

“I don't think so. I listened to your heart boy. You're thinking about your family.” He grabbed Miguel's chin with his fingers. Miguel tried to pull away in surprise when he realized he felt the jerking motion and Rodrigo's fingers and nails digging on his chin. He couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter knowing he couldn’t feel his mother’s hug but felt something as intimidating as nails on his chin “That's the problem with people and their families. You got what you wanted. Life, or at least the afterlife will forever be painless for you, yet you're still yearning to go back. You're  obsessed with your family. In the end, people do stupid things for their family but till what end? In the end, we all leave each other. Kids turn eighteen, parents kick them out. Your parents will only feel bad for a while. Life moves on. Gossip dies down, they'll get over you. Besides, it's not too hard to make another child. All it takes is a few extra hours in bed to make another Miguel. You won't have to worry about how lonely they'll feel.”

“No… it's not like that.” Miguel argued. It didn't feel like an argument though. Arguments were supposed to be logical, they're supposed to destroy the sense of what the person in front of him was staying but as he listened, he couldn't help but see the sense in what Rodrigo was saying instead.

“Then tell me what is it like? Why do you want to stay with your family so bad?”

Miguel pulled his head away and bent down looking at his hands. For some reason, the first thing he thought of as he stared at his hands was how he would help out in the kitchen as they counted down the hours to Dia de los Muertos or even just a simple birthday dinner. He enjoyed it and he was sure he wouldn't have enjoyed it as much without his parents but how could he articulate a feeling without it sounding like a pathetic excuse.

The only thing he could think of was “I enjoy being with them.” How was that a good reason though compared to what  Rodrigo was throwing at him? He hated to admit it but he was starting to believe the old man.

“Do what makes you happy. If you want the pain  to stop forever. You have to cross.”

Miguel pulled away from the old man.His voice was close enough that Miguel almost jumped in surprise at the last word. “Why didn't you cross?” He asked. For some reason, He understood what he meant. It may have been instinctive for old souls detached from their body but he knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

“I missed the first opportunity, had the gall to wait for my family to come back. They never did.” He shrugged.

Miguel sensed the bitterness as the man mentioned the words 'family’ and 'come back.’ He wanted to probe Rodrigo's sloppy answer a bit more. It was a far cry from the detailed stories he gave. A sloppy answer meant he didn't want to talk about it. He grew up knowing that probing anyone older in his family on something personal was practically criminal, a violation of the unwritten 'respect your elders’ clause Mexicans held with such high regard.

“Why do you want me to cross?” Miguel asked instead, sensing that that was what the old man had wanted him to ask.

“I can't go to the land of the dead without someone with me.” He admitted morosely before perking up. “It's a win win situation. I get to cross. You get to cross. You'll never experience pain again. You'll be playing the guitar everyday when you're there. You're a guitar player right?”

“But I won't be able to come back?” He didn't bother answering the question. He didn’t know how Rodrigo found out he was a guitar player. That was something he could think about later. At that moment, he was actually considering what the old man as saying. The man could have been a salesman while he was alive.

“Why would you want to come back? The moment you go back to your body, you'll be limited. You need to sleep, eat. You'll get sick.  You'll feel pain.” He explained, sounding genuinely dumbfounded at Miguel's hesitation. “ I mean you're lucky already. The worst pain is already over for you. There are a billion more painful ways than what happened to you. You got out cleanly compared to a lot of poor sops in this world.

“Are you saying death is a privilege?” Miguel asked, also dumbfounded  at the man's tone. He sounded like he was talking about collecting lottery winnings, not about crossing to the other side and leaving his whole family behind. 

He sighed. “I'll show you something.” He grabbed Miguel so tightly it was almost threatening. Surprisingly, it hurt and Miguel could only follow. The man was talking like a salesman but with the topic becoming heavier and heavier with each argument he made, Miguel felt an ominosity about it. He could have compared it to the the men that were selling weird candies in alleys near the mariachi plaza which his parents always told him to avoid. Back then, he had a home to run to  and parents who would tell him what to do. Compared the the candy men in Santa Cecilia though, Rodrigo’s advice made much more sense. Also this time Miguel had no home to run to and no parents to listen to. That's why Miguel found him listening, complying and actually considering the man's offer.

He lead Miguel through the stretch of rooms in the ICU. They must have been talking for a few hours because the lights were dimmer than a while ago. He silently occupied himself by reading the names on the doors but quickly looked away when he knew his was coming up. With how he was starting to feel, that was something he didn't want to look at.

Only a few steps later, he pulled Miguel into one of the rooms.

Miguel closed his eyes as they walked through the closed door.

What he saw in front of him was a body full of tubes. Almost similar to his own, he had a tube running down his throat, two IVs on his hands, one tube on his nose. Miguel could only stare for a couple of seconds before he looked away.

“This man's like this because he  had a stroke, lost the ability to move his whole body, just turned 70, too early to be a senile man don't you think?”

“So what happened…” Miguel asked hesitantly.

“He lived like that for a few years, had his ass wiped by his kids, just lay down in bed, maybe sat in a wheelchair a few times. Not a very quality life if you ask me. The man was miserable. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't play in the streets or even play a simple a song in the.  guitar.”  He looked to Miguel and the latter stepped back instinctively. “That reminds me, even if you do get back into your body, how long and how painful do you think your recovery will be? You almost lost your life there muchacho.You're playing that guitar now but when you get back into that body… How long do you think it will be before you're performing again? I bet you months. Your legs will need to get back their energy, I heard from a doctor your heart was a mess, your lungs too, every organ actually. Maybe you'll have to take a tank with you wherever you go, or feel that tightness in your chest your whole life, I guess singing will be out of the question.”

“Stop it!”  Miguel snapped as he put his hands to his ears. The imagery and the threats were scaring him and he found himself trying to rack his brain forgetting those words that were already playing with his psyche. The natural idea to want to go back to his body was twisting in his head and he was starting to realize how much of a bad idea, limiting himself with a body was. At the same time, a part of him was fighting to maintain status quo in his thoughts. It was like a war between his simple wants and the ideas Rodrigo was planting in his head, a bloody war and all Miguel wanted to do was hug his knees to his chest and stop thinking altogether.

“I’m  sorry, that must have been too fast.” Rodrigo said, his tone was once again reassuring and calm and that sudden change from the almost threatening tone only made the contrast between tones more scarily apparent. The latter didn’t even have time to consider the bipolarity of the old man. He was too taken aback by the fact that Rodrigo hugged him and he had felt it. He had hugged people many times and hugs were not generally very impactful but that hug was somehow different. It felt warm. Only when he felt the warmth of that hug, did he realize that ever since he woke up detached from his body, he was cold. The cold though was ubiquitous and with no point of comparison, it felt like nothing. It was a new and pleasant feeling and it was instinct that made Miguel put up his hands and return the hug, only to make the warmth last longer. Maybe it was warmth, maybe it was instinct but all the antagonistic feelings.

Rodrigo sighed. “What I was trying to tell you is it's not worth living your life if you're only going to be half the person you were.  The man wanted to die. Ever since he realized that he was paralyzed shoulders down, he was praying for a fast death. You could say he was ecstatic when he finally woke up not in his body. His family though, they tried to keep him alive, even if it was painful for him, even when it was shameful, even when life was starting to become boring and repetitive stuck in a bed all day. Their actions just made me wonder if the love they had for their father was real, don't you think if they did care about him and love him they would have let him die from the start. That's a body now, the soul crossed a long time ago. He doesn't even have an ofrenda to go to since his children won't let him die. His children are too busy honoring a vegetable to even honor his soul.”

The selfishness and stupidity of the  unnamed children Rodrigo had talked about made Miguels stomach boil and for some reason, he found himself connecting it to his own experience. Why were his parents keeping him alive when he was in so much pain? Reputation? Comfort? Companionship? Why was his mother crying then? Why was his father angry. They could always make another child. He thought back to his body and realized he was a vegetable yet his parents were still keeping him connected to machines yet they planned to keep him alive if he ever woke up. Even if he did get cured, the recover would be painful. The doctor was the one who said that his body was a mess. He probably wouldn’t be the same anymore when he recovers. Their selfishness made his blood boil.” How do you know the man wanted to die?” He managed to say. He wanted to hear the whole story only to further feed his already growing desire to cross.

“Because I was there when he begged for death. And when he finally left his body, he crossed without hesitation Miguel.” Rodrigo held Miguel at arms length and tightened his grip on the boys shoulder. “I’ve been here a long time boy, I’ve met a lot of people. When you’re dying Miguel, when you’re a vegetable, you don’t want to go back to live some half assed life. You’ll experience more pain. Probably die a more painful death, maybe get a stroke, maybe a heart attack, kept alive once again by selfish relatives. Maybe a car accident, so many ways to die. It will be painful and you will regret not leaving the world when you had a much easier and more peaceful chance.”

Miguel could not explain or describe what happened next but it was a pain he had never experienced in his life. More painful than his whole ordeal which started with the escape to the plaza. If someone asked, maybe he could have said it was the heart attack, stroke and car accident all crammed into one sensation multiplied tenfold. With only a second to comprehend and articulate that sensation though, all he could do was scream.

_ I’ll give you time to decide. _

Miguel had already decided though. Even before he came to his senses, even before he reacted to the sounds of bones clacking together and a familiar gasp, he knew what he wanted to do.

He was going to cross with Rodrigo,

_ Hector, we need to take Miguel back to his room. It’s dangerous out here. _

_ He lost a lot of weight. When was the last time we saw him? Dia de Los Muertos? _

He wanted to open his eyes as soon he heard the exchange between the two relatives he knew so well. The trauma of a while ago had stamped itself into his memory and Miguel couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. A part of him was terrified of moving as if it expected to feel a rehash of the pain of a while ago again. He settled with just listening to their exchange and the clack of bones, the only hint that the two were moving.

_ He must have been very sick. Back when I was alive, we never took anyone to the hospital in city if they can easily be treated at home or in a clinic. Coco said Elena manages the household the same way. _

_ When they said we had to take care of a relative Miguel was the last one I expected to see. I was thinking maybe Elena's husband what's his name? _

_ Franco. _

_ Dios mío, is that his body? _

_ I thought you’d be a bit calmer seeing what dying looks like, seeing as you’ve lived in the land of the dead longer than I have. _

_ It’s different, I don’t remember seeing this many needles and tubes in anyone during our time. Besides, I’m still in shock from seeing Miguel’s ghost. It shouldn’t be like this for him. _

_ At least, he’s still here. I’m more worried about Luisa and Enrique, I can’t even imagine how they feel. _

_ Hey! it’s been a while since I saw this guitar. You know what we need in a somber moment like this, some good music. _

Soon after, Miguel heard the familiar opening tabs of the Proud Corazon. The soft melody echoed around the room and he couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that even when he couldn’t feel the floor or the bed of the hospital room, even when it felt like he was in a different dimension, the melody played on the guitar still reverberated across the room.

It sounded a lot like the sounds that echoed when his father played except this time, the sounds were created by a more experienced musician. Miguel couldn’t help but note and be somewhat grateful that the acoustics of the room that played a big part on how the notes moved and sounded to listeners remained constant in any dimension.

In death, there would be no pain and he would still be able to fully enjoy music. _ Señor Rodrigo is right _ . Miguel thought to himself as he slowly opened his eyes to see Héctor strumming the opening. He opened his mouth ready to sing the first verse when he looked up and made eye contact with Miguel.

“Hey hey, Miguel you’re awake.” He placed the duplicate of the guitar to the side and went up to Miguel and patted him on the back. Miguel recoiled instinctively, his body still not willing to forget that split second of excruciating pain.

“Sorry…” Miguel said as he saw the barely concealed shock in Hector's face.  As he came to his senses, he realized that they placed him on the sofa chair his mother had been sleeping on only a few hours ago.“Wow, you know how to play Proud Corazon.” He managed to reply, trying to make up for that minor rejection.

“He played it with you only a month ago when we visited.”

Miguel turned to see his Mama Imelda coming at him from the other side, she put her hand on his head and smiled. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been playing your song a lot in the square ever since I first heard it in Dia de Los Muertos. Everybody loves it. You’re a legend now in the land of the dead mijo.” Hector said, quickly recovering from that moment of shock. He grabbed the guitar again and started plucking the strings again, playing the melody of proud corazon

Miguel sat up and looked at his great grandfather and great grandmother. Rodrigo may have been right about death being the better option but he may have been wrong though when it came to family. Miguel was worried for a while that he was going to be alone. His father and mother may have been selfish about his dying. He was glad to know though that he had family who made the effort to guide him. He had seen it on TV and read about it in books. When someone dies, the ancestors would pick that person up and help him cross to the land of the dead. He had imagined that Hector and Imelda did the same thing when Mama Coco died. That thought had made her death bittersweet for him.  _ Maybe they could help Rodrigo cross too.  _ He thought to himself.

“Guess I'll be playing with you in the plaza huh...”

“I wouldn’t want you to join me anytime soon though.” He commented it was obviously a joke by the tone but Miguel struggled to find the punchline.

Miguel frowned in confusion. “Why?” DId he do anything wrong? Should he practice a bit more?

Hector shook his head. “ I’d be more than happy if I got to play with you in the square. But I wouldn’t wish for you to die now. You're supposed to enjoy your life on earth first.”

“Wait, so you’re not taking me with you?”

Imelda let out a soft laugh. “No wonder you looked a little agitated. Your life is far from over. We’re not here to take you with us. we’re here to make sure you get back into your body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway, the scene is just about rodrigo convincing Miguel to cross to the other side and leave his body. He mentioned quality of life, pain and lack of family empathy as main arguments. 
> 
> If you have any questions about it, you're free to ask. 
> 
> As always do tell me what you think and thanks for having so much patience with this chapter if you reached until here. It was one of the hardest to write :p


	7. Crossing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a long ass rant below in the end notes. Not sure who'd want to read it but it's down there in the end notes. Since you're probably here for the story, the story comes first hehe

 

Maybe it was because of the shock. Maybe it was because of the pain. Maybe it was because of the disappointment.

He couldn't tell exactly why but as he listened to Hector and Imelda stories about their everyday life in the Land of the Dead, he knew he wasn't feeling as excited or interested as he had expected to be when he did finally meet them again. 

He had dreamt of seeing Hector, Imelda, Mama Coco and everyone else for a long time and silently scolded himself for not being genuinely interested when Imelda told him about how everyone requested Hector played Remember Me during that years sunrise spectacular, how they had stolen to some private space and Hector played it for his daughter Coco instead. He felt guilty for not feeling relieved when they told him that Mama Coco was doing fine and she was actually very happy being able to once again dance after having spent years in a wheelchair and more years, hiding the urge to dance from her family. 

Maybe if he was a bit more into the conversation he would have asked questions like why Mama Coco wasn't there as well or what they were doing there in the first place. His replies to their many stories though felt and sounded automatic. The laugh he made when Imelda told Miguel  about when they performed together in the plaza was robotic, even when she told him about Tia Victoria who had tried to dance along but having grown up with no music and sense of rhythm had spectacularly failed or about the crash course on dancing Mama Coco had given Tia Victoria during the Sunrise Spectacular.

Imelda and Hector had noticed that he wasn't as excited to see them and Miguel knew that. He wasn't asking the questions he himself  thought he would have asked if he saw them again. They had asked him about his life, how was the family, how was everyone coping with the lifting of the music ban, more importantly, how was everyone after Mama Coco died. He had tried his best to sound enthusiastic but in the end, his replies  were one worded and half hearted. They had tried to ask follow up questions but his lack  of enthusiasm had become infectious. 

His ancestors had subdued their gestures and tones. There was a point where Hector was talking about how he had given Coco the biggest hug when she finally arrived in the land of the dead. Miguel had expected him to hold his hands outstretched but he had limited himself to moving his hands in tune with his words. What made him feel a little worse was the gradual yet apparent loss of enthusiasm in his voice. Imelda as well had refrained from holding Miguel and the latter could see it in the way that every now and then she would put her hands in front of him as if she wanted to place them on his shoulders or his head only to pull back as if she sensed the discomfort and the tension and realized it.

Miguel had noticed those small movements and knew he had to brush away his discomfort, ask questions, cherish this time he had with them but how he felt wasn't something he could easily brush away, it felt like an elephant in the room that has been there from the start, impossible to kick out. 

There was one way though. It took Miguel a few minutes and some more time half heartedly listening to Hector's stories to realize that there was one question that he wanted to ask. It may kick the elephant out but it felt risky.

_ Why can't you take me now? _ He really wanted to ask. It sounded inappropriate though. He remembered the week after Mama Coco had just died. He had wanted to ask Mama Elena what they were going to do with her rocking chair or her things but it sounded insensitive. That time, there was no reason to be insensitive, no one was mourning, no one was dying yet but that one question felt almost taboo. 

“Miguel, you’ve been quiet.” Imelda commented. The wording may have been wrong but the timing was definitely wrong. Miguel was in the middle of ransacking his brain for the right words and dealing with the guilt of not feeling happy to see them. When Imelda had finally commented on his discomfort, the feelings he had denied since a while ago became real and Miguel felt like he was at fault, he was a bad person for not being happy to see them. 

It felt like she was blaming him. It was almost instinct how his mind had decided to play victim. Hector and Imelda were selfish. They wanted him to stay, even when his life wouldn't amount to anything, when he could live his whole life only half the human he was. They wanted to deprive them of that painless nirvana in the land of the dead and were only mocking him through the stories they were telling him.  _ You're going to have to go through hell before you get to join us.  _

“Hey, are you okay?” Hector asked, stopping his story midway. “I thought you’d be happy to see us.” He joked, a horrible attempt to mask his worry. 

“No. I'm not.” He managed to say. For some reason, admitting just that felt even just a bit liberating but what else could he say after that? 

“I know what happened is a bit stressful for you. This in between dimension is scary but this isn’t how…”Imelda had tried to put her arm around Miguel. That only helped to agitate the boy a little more.

_ This isn’t how it's supposed to go? This isn’t how I'm supposed to die? What was supposed to happen then? You won't help me get out of this?  _

Imelda’s tone was comforting, consoling. It was as if he was helpless as if there was nothing else she could do to help him.  _ Or she didn't want to. They didn't want to.  _

_ “Do you even want to help me?”  _ Miguel violently brushed his great great grandmother's comforting hand away from his shoulder. “All you two have been talking about since a while ago is how good you've been having it in the Land of the Dead.  No progress. No help. You haven't even tried to get me out of this.”

“Believe me Miguel. We’re trying. It’s not as easy as---” She pressed.

“Take me back to the land of the dead.  I don't wanna go back to Santa Cecilia… I want to die.” 

Imelda instinctively widened her eyes surprised  then narrowed her eyes soon after. In most cases, he would have cowered at seeing his great great grandmother narrow her eyes like that. With his whole body shaking in anger, all it was doing was making him more angry. She looked accusing as if it was his fault he didn't want to go back.  She looked like she was going to disagree with him, maybe even gang up on him with Hector. “Do you understand what you're saying?” 

“Hey hey… Mijo… what are you thinking? You said it during Dia de los Muertos that you wanted to be a musician and perform in many places. You can't do it dead.” Hector said, straining to keep his tone lively. He handed the guitar to Miguel. 

“I can be a musician in the land of the dead. I don't have to do it in Santa Cecilia. No body to limit me, I won't be tired, I won't need to sleep, go to the bathroom. I'll just be playing music.” Miguel explained as he grabbed the guitar and played a few random tabs for emphasis. 

Hector flinched and Miguel realized that he had plucked the strings on the guitar too hard. 

“Miguel… Dying and being in the land of the dead isn't just playing music all the day long. You lose things when you cross. When you go there, there's no turning back.” Hector explained patiently. “There are people you'll leave behind, opportunities you could have had. Also It's not like this is a once in a lifetime choice. Eventually you're all going to end up in the land of the dead anyway. You should enjoy your life on earth for what it is first.”

“How can you enjoy life stuck in a body that needs to eat, sleep. That gets sick, feels pain…” Miguel argued. “When you're in the land of the dead, you never get sick… when you fall, you can get back together within seconds. 

“Because life isn’t all about that mijo, there are experienced, challenges, there are people to meet, a family to live for. Your parents must be worried about you. Baby Coco is going to need her big brother.” Imelda added. She put her hands on Miguel's shoulders. 

_I survived without a big_ _brother._ Miguel thought  to himself as he twisted away from Imelda’s grip. Coco had Prima Abel, prima Rosa, Benny and Manny. She had a mother and a father. What would one less brother do?. “Mama and papa can always make another child if they're feeling lonely. It's not too hard.” Miguel echoed Rodrigo’s words.  He looked at Mama Imelda as he said it. He watched as her jaws dropped. She looked like she was just punched in the face. 

Hector was the one who went in between them with that comment. “I can't believe I'm hearing this from you. Only a few months ago, you wrote a song about how much you love your family and now you're comparing having a child to working some sort of factory job?”

“What do you know?”  _ Don't tell me you believed that when you're the one who left your family just like that.  _ He wanted to add but he stopped himself at the last minute.

“Making and raising a child is not at all like making another pair of shoes!” He said without stopping to acknowledge  Miguel's question.Hector had bent over as if he wanted to listen closely to whatever explanation,  Miguel had about how he felt that way. Miguel did not see good intentions though. At that moment, the bending of his body and the fact that he had slowed his speech down, felt almost demeaning and Miguel's anger only grew.   _ They're thinking I'm  stupid. They wouldn't listen to me because to them, I'm  a kid, I don't know better.  _ It wasn't anything new. Prima Abel and Prima Rosa were the same when he was growing up. They always made fun of him for being slow when they played in the forest. When they started working in the shoe shop, they thought they were better and smarter, demeaning him for being too young to work in the workshop. As he thought about it, he realized that his cousins were only the tip of the iceberg. His parents had kept him out of many conversations because they were having “adult talks.” For a long time, his family had scolded him for hanging out in the mariachi plaza or even just listening to simple music maybe because they were smarter, naturally better people and according to them, he didn't know better. The worst though was the way his parents had stood in silence, no, his whole family had stood in silence as he was shamed by his abuelita and she had destroyed the guitar that he spent months putting together. Things had gotten better since the music ban but his heart still  ached as he recalled that last scene and it only fed the anger inside him. Why would he want to go back to a family like that, a family who destroyed things he worked hard to create, a family who watched silently as he was tormented?  He almost felt stupid for writing a love song for a family like that, what was he thinking. Papa Hector was no better or he may have even been worse. He was getting mad at Miguel for treating his family like that yet, long ago he had the gall to leave his own family. The hypocrisy of it all only fueled the anger inside him.

That one comment which he had stopped himself from saying was at the tip of his tongue and before he could stop himself, he had blurted it out.“What do you know about raising children? You didn't even raise your own!”

“Miguel!” Imelda’s voice rang out and Miguel jumped in surprise. That was the first time he had heard her voice like that, a distinct mix of hurt, stress, anger and surprise.

Miguel was trembling in anger. He watched Hector's face change from one for anger to shame. If he wasn't a skeleton, Miguel could have sworn he would have seen tears in his eyes.

“You’re right, I don't know anything about raising children. Coco was very young when I left, I didn't see her grow up, wasn't with her when she turned 15, when she got married.I tried to go home but ended up trapped in the land of the dead against my will. I was alone. I missed my wife, I missed my daughter. I was wandering while my family must have thought I abandoned them. You know , compared to me, you have a choice. A choice I was never given. You have a choice not to wander through the streets in the land of the dead like I did, a choice to be with your family, the people you love and you're taking it for granted because you don't want to live within the limits of a life and a body. When I first died. The last thing I was thinking about was how good it felt to not get sick. That's nothing Miguel. I can't even describe how much I regretted even leaving in the first place, how lonely I felt. How the regret, sadness---”Hector stopped, as if he ran out of words. I don't know how it feels to raise a child but I know how painful it is to abandon  and to be abandoned by your family… That’s why, I may not know how it feels to raise a child and for the longest time, I may have known how it felt to have a family but I’ve experienced enough to know what you’re thinking is wrong. Hate me if you want Miguel but I won’t take you back.” Hector looked like he wanted to say more but stopped himself. “I need some time to think.” He walked out of the room, dragging his legs as if they were weights

Imelda followed him silently with her gaze before looking back at Miguel, her face a mixture of hurt and anger. “Say what you want, I won’t take you back either.  You have no idea what you’re asking for mijo.”

“He’s right. You guys are selfish. You don’t know how it feels to be lying there in a hospital bed, not being able to breathe, to move. I haven’t felt this good in so long and you want to take that away from me?” As he imagined what he said, he couldn’t help but feel more adamant about returning to his body. He felt good, he could move freely, play the guitar, talk without running out of breath, without feeling a pounding pain but it’s going to all change if he goes back. He’s going to be in pain.  _ Why would anyone make a decision to hurt themselves?  _ It just wasn’t natural.

“Because they want someone else to be happy. Humans do this for the people they love all the time mijo.”

Miguel looked up in surprise when he realized he had accidentally said his thoughts out loud.

“Why do you think mothers give birth? Why do you think I gave up music?” Why do---”

As his family started to gang up on him though, he knew he had to be strong for himself  “Well when you banned music, it didn’t just hurt yourself. You hurt me and Mama Coco too. How can you say you did it for love, when your decision just hurt us anyway?” 

Miguel had looked away even before he finished his sentence. There was a part of him screaming at the back of his mind as he fought with his great great grandparents, telling him to apologize, to listen and then and there that part was taking over. He didn’t think it was possible but he felt a quiver in his lips, a sign of vulnerability and that wasn’t something he wanted to show. That might even spell the difference between them forcing him back into his body or not. He ran out of the room.

_ Rodrigo, wherever you are, please help me. I don’t wanna go back.  _ He had said that last part with so much conviction. Maybe, he was trying to convince himself that he did not want to go back. He brushed that thought away and focused on the task at hand. He had to find Rodrigo. He remembered that Hector had left and might still be around. He still found himself running carelessly in the hallways, a part of him hoping Hector would run into him and talk him out of it. He didn’t run into him. He didn’t even remember his Mama Imelda calling out to him as he ran out of the room. Those two things he noted, only gave him motivation to run faster. Maybe it was out of spite. Maybe it was determination to still run into Hector. 

He continued running, the hospital doors started to go by faster and faster. He went down a few stairs and up a few.  _ How do I cross?  _ Miguel was utterly lost. The word echoed inside his head and that reminded him. He had ran too fast that it was only after running countless corridors and staircases did he realize he had lost his guitar too. He must have dropped it somewhere. 

He slowed down, ready to retrace his steps only to be pulled into one of the many rooms by something or someone. 

“I was worried about you.” 

It wasn’t Hector’s voice.

“You just disappeared and I woke up…” Miguel said, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room.

He could make out the familiar shape of the Rodrigo’s head and the tiny movement of its contours as he shook his head. 

“Thank god you’re safe though. I thought you would have fallen for an illusion.” 

“Illusion?” Miguel frowned. The only notable thing he had seen was Papa Hector and Mama Imelda.  Meeting those two had looked real. The music Hector played sounded real. The guitar he had plucked had felt real. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you alone but I ended up caught in my own illusion as well. This dimension between life and death is dangerous.”   


“Wait, how is it dangerous?” Miguel asked. He had imagined monsters and rogue alebrijes when Rodrigo said the word dangerous. As he recalled his whole experience though, he knew he didn’t see any. 

Rodrigo shook his head. “You know, the most dangerous things are the ones that don’t even look dangerous. I don’t want you falling for anything so I’ll tell you now. There are people who embrace death and there are people who embrace life. The unlucky souls who want to go back to their body and continuing living their life, even when their body is to sick, reject death’s invitation. They become angry spirits, go insane from trying to hold on to their body, to their life. They get jealous of those who can still go back to their body and those who can still cross after missing their own chance and create illusions to keep them here in this in between because you know, misery loves company. Unless they’ve been here for a long time like me, people tend to fall for these many illusions.” 

_ That’s what it was…  _ Miguel thought to himself. They had wanted him to stay, made him feel guilty for wanting to leave and for a while it had worked. He shivered as he remembered how realistic that illusion was and silently thanked his own pride and convictions for giving himself the courage to reject it.   _ Of course, the real Mama Imelda and Papa Hector would have gladly welcomed me to the Land of the Dead. _

“Don’t worry, usually someone  from the land of the dead is sent here to guide the lost spirits.” 

“Like an alebrije?” Miguel remembered Dante and only then did he realized how much he missed Dante and how much he needed him then and there.

“Alebrijes can’t enter this in between, but you can say they’re something like that… In America, they’re called the Grim reaper. In Mexico, they’re called Santa Muerte. Universally, they’re called Death. It’s the same job, they’re assigned to an area where lost spirits usually sprout up, war zones, car pile ups, hospitals and make sure the souls are able to cross safely. Funny though, the one here disappeared a few days ago.  We got along well, he wasn’t authorized to let me cross but he said he’d keep me company until I can.”

“Wait, so how can we cross without him? ” 

“The truth is,  I knew how to cross. I just needed to find the right companion.”  He held Miguel’s hands in between his. “Close your eyes. Are you ready?”

“Wait, what do you mean right companion?” Miguel asked. If he knew death, he must have met many other people who could have crossed with him. Why did he need Miguel in particular?

“I’ll explain everything once we cross. Trust me Miguel. I just want what’s best for you. I mean, what’s better than the painless embrace of death?”

Anything could sound good with the right tone. Even something as ominous as death could sound good with the a combination of the right choice of words and tones. With how Rodrigo said it, his former notions about death, the commitment, the loss, the goodbye was completely gone and all he could see was the painlessness, the embrace and the liberation.

“I’ll ask you again. Are you ready to cross?” 

_ Crossing meant he won’t end up a lost soul. Crossing meant no more pain, Crossing meant understanding everything.   _

Crossing was good.

“I'm ready.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my sister stumbled upon my a03 account and my embarrassing hidden life has been revealed to like two people in my family. My fics that all consist of hurt/comfort/hospital and something in between have been unearthed along with my affinity for these types of fics hence my bookmarks and favorites. I don't know if my other siblings or parents will find out but IM GOING ON LOCKDOWN. 
> 
> Jk no, I mean I have my traumas. I used to write a long time ago, in some notebook. I was a shit writer. My sister found it and made fun of EVERYTHING, awkward conversations, shitty writing, “leukemia doesn't work like that!” And I swore off of writing until I was finally allowed to make a fanfiction account.Where I made shitty stories in secret.   
> Anyway, yeah, it's been years since my first story. I probably grew up, hopefully my writing too and surprisingly, when my sister confronted me about my fic, she wasn't berating my shitty narration or awkward conversations. SHE BERATED MY CHOICE OF SICKNESS.   
> I quote “I am so disappointed in you, if you wanted to torture him, you should have given him small cell lung cancer.” She's a medical student so she was mentioning all these illnesses he could have gotten which are way more painful. But they won't fit for how I wanted this story to end so I pushed away the ideas.   
> Maybe, one day, I'd write a simple terminal illness fic for the fluff and hurt and comfort of it while reflecting on the importance of life, family and relationships again instead of writing about kidnappings and crazy men named Rodrigo.   
> Now that I think about it, I actually want more hurt Miguel (or Hurt Hector tbh). So I actually might consider my sisters suggestion. I'm still recovering though from sheer embarrassment of her finding my account. Sorry for the rant. Anyway, just leaving this here for people interested to hear about my very tough writing background and for my sister to read if she ever ends up back in my story. (hello)
> 
> Btw, where's the coco fandom at? I mean the Memes and funny textposts and gif sets? I'm legit hungry for those but I'm reluctant to make a tumblr or Reddit because I made so many crazy decisions that any spare time is just me procrastinating. But yes, do tell me. I like procrastinating with memes when I'm not procrastination by writing fanfiction. 
> 
> Updates on My Updates:  
> School just started so we're still pretty chill and I was able to finish a good amount of writing. I think I'll be able to maintain a once a week update for a while. Would you guys prefer Wednesday or Friday?
> 
> If a shit storm happens, I'll still try to update with a message saying my shit storm has started but if I don't, I'm probs drowning dangerously in school work.   
> Enjoy!


	8. Stages of Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is more hectic than I realized but I think I can still manage a Wednesday to Friday update so you can check around these times and I'd probably post once a week or once every two weeks depending on how much time I can get off of my daily grind for writing. 
> 
> Somehow, I'm feeling dissatisfied with how I'm writing my story and I wanna go back and edit, add scenes but I really wanna finish this since there are so many scenes in looking forward to writing. I'll probably finish this then go back and rewrite everything after.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

The first thing he thought when he first felt it was that Rodrigo was right. Death was an embrace.

He had expected it to feel like a flash when the darkness he saw when he closed his eyes, suddenly turned a bright white. He was surprised though to have felt it consume him slowly instead of all at once. It was happening to many parts of his body at the same time that he could not pinpoint the exact pattern but in the end, he could still only compare it to a slow and intimate embrace.

The next thing he knew was that he was feeling again. It was different from the usual feel of skin on a surface. Skin and fat were always letting themselves be pushed or prodded by a combination of the force of weight and the surface underneath whether it was a hard floor or a cushion. He felt incredibly light and his own skin felt uniquely hard against  the surface underneath. The only thing telling him that he was laying on something soft was the sinking feeling on his back.

The sensation did not feel like anything completely new. As he lay there, lucid but with closed eyes, on that soft surface, he started to have an idea of where he was and why he felt how he did.

He opened his eyes to confirm it. He put his hand up against his face and saw the bones he had expected to see, exactly the same structure, shape and color from when he was cursed more than a year ago. He didn’t have to look in the mirror though to know that he was skeleton all over. The sounds of his bones clacking with every move and the impact as they hit each other was evidence enough. The idea of bones clacking together was uncomfortable and Miguel had flinched the first time he felt it but after a few more clacks, he knew that it would be something he’d probably get used to.

_ No turning back now. _ Miguel thought to himself as he sat up. It was a painless embrace, something he thought would keep him warm and satisfied. As he came to his senses, he started to realize, that he wasn’t feeling that warmth anymore. He wasn’t feeling warmth at all.  

He looked at his hands and legs, meatless, skinless and bony, he suddenly felt this pit in his stomach. It was a melancholy feeling, enough to make him want to cry quietly at his fate. No tears came out though, and it turned out that the only thing that did make him feel better was to let his eyelids droop and his mouth wither into a frown.   _ I got what I wanted. Why am I sad.  _ He turned to the side of the bed and placed his feet on the floor below. Just as he expected he  couldn’t feel the coldness or the warmth, just another impact of bone to floor.

He scanned the room, it was a simple bedroom, big enough to fit a single bed and a side table while maintaining a decent level of comfort. On the wall, someone had hung a blue hoodie and jeans.

_ Wait, why are there clothes here…  _ At that moment, Miguel was reminded of what he was wearing.

He stifled a scream as he looked down and saw the drab green hospital gown over him. He had been walking around the past few hours in that and nobody had told him. He couldn’t feel anything back in the hospital, so how was he supposed  to know he was wearing something that revealing?

Brushing away the surprise and the horror of a moment ago he methodically put his pants on.

_ What now? Where am I? Alright Miguel, calm down, there’s just one  bed here. Of course, Rodrigo would be in another room... _

It would have been nice to have a guide, someone to tell him what to do. Maybe he needed an alebrije, like Dante. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t get anywhere, just lying on a bed in a tiny bedroom.

He ripped off the hospital gown, pulled the sweatshirt over his head and made his way towards the door. He was about to open it when he saw the knob turn and instinctively pulled back. That motion would have been completely normal during most days. Miguel had just woken up in a skeletal body and was still struggling to maneuver without much thought. He was caught by surprise though and instead of regaining his balance like any other day, he had fallen back on his butt, his mind still not used to weightlessness of his new body.

“Are you okay?”

She had sounded like she knew him but Miguel could have sworn that he had never heard her voice in his life. He looked up and saw a young girl who looked to have died in her early twenties. She was in business attire and carrying a clipboard, making Miguel ponder a bit more on where in particular he did end up.

“W-where am I? Who are you?”

He caught a glimpse of what looked like pity on her face. “You’re in the Land of the Dead, muchacho. You just died.” She said.

Death had felt like a sweet and warm embrace but when she said the word ‘died’, Miguel could not help but feel a twinge in his chest, the melancholy feeling of a while ago only getting stronger and the air around him was only getting thicker.

“No one in the land of the dead expects you to be okay with it when it first happens. Especially when it's so sudden.” She said, consolingly as she helped him up.

Miguel could not look at her in the eye as she said those words. What she didn’t know about him was that he had the chance to stay, but he had chosen to throw it away and commit instead to death. It was his decision and it was a good decision, he wasn’t supposed to be sad about it. 

“I’m fine.”  _ I saw it coming. I was prepared.  _ He had so many things he wanted to add. The brief  _ I’m fine  _ though already took too much effort. While he said those words, he felt a rattle in his bones as if  something was protesting that single sentence. He feared that if he continued talking, his body might even give out on him out of spite, as he continues to lie and deny.  

She smiled at him in return but the only thing smiling was her mouth. It was obvious she didn’t believe that he was fine. “My name is Andrea, I work at the department of Family Reunions.”

“Nice to meet you…” Miguel said. He kept his voice low for better control. If he spoke any louder, he was scared it might betray how he really felt.

“To tell you the truth, I wouldn't say I'm as happy to see you here… A lot of people in the land of the dead wouldn't be either…”

Miguel stayed silent. Andrea’s relatively cheerful tone had slowly slipped into a more depressing one and he only found it harder to maintain a sense of satisfaction about his decision.

He followed Andrea out of the room. She had gestured for him to go ahead and put a hand around his shoulders.

_ Why? Where's Rodrigo? Where are you taking me? _

So many questions were running through Miguel's head almost in time with the pace of their brisk walking. Miguel silently watched as she guided him to one hallway after another, somewhere along the way, he had  found himself lost in his own thoughts trying to make sense of what the best questions could be. He had snuck a glance at the young skeleton.

She had caught his gaze before he could look away. She slowed to a stop and looked  back at him. “We can call you a little later. Are you sure you're okay?

Miguel was inclined to say no. He was feeling up to it. It didn't feel like physical exhaustion. His body was already beyond feeling that. His eyes were drooping though, he felt himself dragging his legs behind him. All he wanted to do was lie in bed and pull a blanket over him and mourn the loss of the more comforting sensations  that had disappeared with the pain. So far he learned that as a skeleton there was a chill that would never go away. Softness had become nothing more than a sinking feeling. He was almost terrified to find out what else he had lost.

He couldn't say no though. Miguel knew he was practically obligated to go forward. Although Andrea had asked that question, she had kept her grip on his hand steady as if she didn't expect him to say no. He also wouldn't be able to find Rodrigo, lounging around that tiny room.

_ Rodrigo _

“I have one question…” Miguel started.

“Mmm?”

“There was an old man with me… when I crossed… I was wondering if you would know where he is… ”

“What's his name?”

“Rodrigo…”

“Last name?”

Miguel racked his brain trying to remember the last few conversations. The man had told him  many things about his family, the dynamics, where  they came from, how they had separated yet he didn't even bother to ask something as important as a last name.  _ How am I supposed to know I'd need something like this? _

_ “ _ Miguel, lots of Rodrigos from around the world cross over everyday. You're going to have to tell me a little more about who he is, where he comes from. Maybe we can ask the office that handles inbound spirits.”

“He was with me in the hospital in Guanajuato.” Miguel added as his mind continued to scramble for the last name of the mystery old man.

She wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion. “Miguel, There was no one else from Guanajuato, hospital.”

Miguel shook his head. “No. That can't be right.”

_ How would she know? _

_ Of course she’d know, she works here. _

_ Maybe he got lost _

_ Maybe he ended up elsewhere. _

“It’s impossible… He was with me. I felt him hold my hand as we crossed.” Miguel’s head was starting to spin. He put one hand to his head as he tried to pick out what could have possibly been illusions in his most recent memories. Were Hector and Imelda fake? Was Rodrigo fake? At that point, Miguel was also starting to doubt the realness of the woman in front of him.

“Then how did I cross?” Rodrigo had said that he couldn’t cross alone. As Miguel recalled the conversation, he started to realize that he had no idea what the exact mechanics of crossing were. He had closed his eyes and held on to Rodrigo but to explain exactly what happened was impossible. He gave himself a few seconds to rack his brain for a possible explanation of that exact moment when he knew what to do and how to do it but even after putting that much effort into articulating that one experience, all he could manage to tell himself was that it just happened.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out…” She explained. She seemed uncomfortable.

Miguel expected a reassuring answer from Andrea. He had expected her to at least answer why he was there or  where Rodrigo was. She only appeared to be as clueless  as she was. It was only natural that he was disappointed. As realization of the implications of her cluelessness dawned on him, he  started to feel more disturbed than disappointed though. In front of him was someone who was supposed to  know what was going on. Someone much older than him, who probably understood much more of what was happening than he did yet seemed  as uncertain as he was.  He needed Rodrigo. He had been the one explaining everything to him until that point. He would definitely know what was going on.

Miguel recalled the other things he had told him, trying to rack his brain for a possible guess to whatever was happening to him. _ The illusions… Lost souls who wanted to continue living… He needed the right companion to cross _

_ What if Rodrigo had the wrong companion? _

_ What if he was caught by the lost souls as they crossed? _

_ What if he was caught because he knew too much? _

_ Rodrigo could be in danger… _

He told himself with more conviction. He felt a new sense of urgency and resolve and it was at that moment that Miguel's whole body unanimously decided that he had no time to feel sad. The jelly feeling in his legs disappeared almost instantly as well as the pit in his gut and all he needed was a more concrete goal in sight. He needed to find Rodrigo, save him and he would definitely tell him what was happening.

_ Maybe Papa Hector, Mama Imelda and Mama Coco can help… _ He thought back to the relatives he had met back in Guanajuato hospital. The Papa Hector and Mama Imelda he had met would definitely be too furious to help him. If they were illusions as Rodrigo had said they were, then maybe the real Papa Hector and Mama Imelda could help.

Ironically, as soon as that idea came up in his mind, it was dashed. From a room only meters away, he heard very familiar screams.

“Miguel isn't even supposed to die! You are suppose to be managing the arrivals right? How could you have let something like that happen? This is the worst incompetency I have seen in a job in a hundred years…”

Miguel then heard a desperate voice follow with a reply. The voice was still too soft to be audible behind the walls but soon after, his great great grandmother replied in a much louder voice. “No. No. Incompetency in my job means wet feet or blisters. Incompetency in your job means people can die when they're not supposed to. Did you even think about this before you got your job… I don't care. Just take him back. Take Miguel back…”

“Imelda!”

He heard a door creak and footsteps. The voices were much softer and a bit more audible, as Miguel quickly traced the sound of the voices to its source, he realized, he only had to turn right in that corridor to see the owners of those voices.

“You need to calm down…”

“Hector, why are you so calm? Has it occurred to you that Miguel is dead? Our great great grandson is  _ dead?  _ And this could have all been avoided if they took this seriously from the start."

“We won't get anything done with you panicking like this. The poor man was just doing his job.”

“I'm not panicking! I'm just making sure he won't be making that stupid mistake again.”

“That wasn't even his job Imelda. They said it themselves, it was Death's job or at least the one assigned to Guanajuato's hospital…”

“But whose job was it to manage them?”

“Whose job was it to take care of Miguel?”

There was a brief silence after that. Enough time for Miguel to realize that he wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation. He looked up to Andrea who hadn’t budged an inch as well but looked as if she was also trying to find the right time to enter.

“Hey hey… I meant it was both of our jobs l… I'm not blaming you Imelda.”

“But you’re right Hector. I shouldn’t have let Miguel run away…”

“I shouldn’t have walked away either. We’re both at fault as much as they are… Hey you’re much calmer now, are you ready to talk to them again.”

“Tell them, we’re ending it for today. I need time to think.”

“You know, things will go a lot faster if we join them, tell them what we know..”

“Not when I’m like this. I’m not thinking straight right now. Especially right after finding out Miguel just crossed? How are you even still calm about this?”

“Someone has to be.”

“Go tell them we’ll continue this next time. We need time to think.”

_ Wasn’t supposed to die… This could have been avoided if things were done differently around here. _ Miguel’s thoughts flew back to the earlier conversations. He had expected the conversation between Imelda and Hector to further explain what had been happening. They had both remained reserved with their words. 

Instead of answering his questions, their conversation had raised more questions. 

As he heard the footsteps of Hector and Imelda get louder and as he saw them appear as they turned on the corner, he froze.

He had hoped that the Hector and Imelda he had seen back in the hospital were merely an illusion. Listening to their conversation only confirmed though that those two back then were very real.

He had thought at first that they would be angry with him. He had said hurtful things he realized then were probably spur of the moment decisions. When he made eye contact with them though, they had remained silent, a far cry from the long lecture he had expected from them. He had first made eye contact with Hector who had looked more remorseful than angry. He then looked to Imelda. He had expected her to walk towards him, take off her shoe and slap him on the face with it for being such a disrespectful and disobedient great grandson. There was no anger in her actions though as she stopped and looked towards him. He couldn't help but think that getting slapped by a shoe would have felt better than seeing his great great grandmother who he had always known to be a strong go getter, capable of starting a business soon after her husband and the breadwinner of the family leaves her,   reduced to how she looked then and there, looking as if she was stumbling over words when she hadn’t even said anything yet.

“Mister and Mrs. Rivera...You're leaving so soon?”

Miguel looked to his side to see that Andrea had recovered from her slight shock of a while ago.

“We’re going to need some time to think about this.” Imelda’s tone meant no arguments and no further questions. It wasn’t anything new for her to say anything as if it were anything less than an order or fact. More often than not, she usually said what she wanted to say with fiery passion or a warm conviction. Then and there, her tone was cold. As  Miguel looked to Andrea, he saw that she as well was taken aback by Imelda’s very cold and uncharacteristic response.  

“Miguel, you're coming with us.” Imelda ordered, her tone unchanged. She walked past Miguel without looking back to check if he was following. She didn't need to. Miguel would have followed anyway, even without the light push Hector had given him from behind.

He looked back at Andrea and nodded, the only thank you he could manage. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Maybe he was ashamed of what he did or maybe he was scared to see his great great grandmother explode.

As he followed her out of the building and through the streets of the land of the dead, he knew they couldn't stay silent forever and  he would have to say something if he wanted any answers.

After organizing his thoughts for the upteenth time, he managed to come up with a short question, he hoped would get at least one of his great great grandparents talking.

"What's going on?”

Without looking back, Imelda stopped in her tracks. “You weren't supposed to die and you died. It's a simple as that.” She answered before she continued walking ahead, not even sparing a moment to look at her grandson.

Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn't at all hurt by his Mama Imelda's cold answer. Soon after though, he felt at light tap on his bony shoulder. He looked up to see his papa Hector, smiling at him comfortingly as if he had forgotten Miguel’s hurtful remarks back at the hospital.

“Simple to explain but much more complicated than she made it out to be.” He added.

Miguel couldn't explain why but for some reason, Hector’s simple comment made him feel like there was an escape from that cold and melancholy feeling that had settled in him. Maybe  it meant that soon enough, he will find Rodrigo and the latter will explain everything. Maybe soon enough Imelda will warm up again.  Maybe it meant, one day he could once again feel the warmth and softness he thought he had lost. If he racked his brain more than he did at that moment, he probably would have found the word 'hope' to describe that feeling. 

He looked away before his great great grandfather could see the slight smile creep up his lips.

Maybe things will get better.  ****

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that took me a while to put into words. It was definitely slow and I apologize for spending so much time in each scene. My other fear though is putting too much events into one chapter but I do plan on picking up the pace soon. I mean the worst for Miguel is over (or has it just started?) 
> 
> Btw, I am on Tumblr rn under the same name (TundrainAfrica) and Im slowly and surely posting the chapters there as well. You may hit me up there with an ask if you have any questions about the story or just for a small chat or to ask me why the heck updates are taking so long. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this very slow chapter.
> 
> Tell me what you think!


	9. Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as I promised myself, I would post this chapter on my birthday. It's February 8 already here in the Philippines but as long as it's still February 7 somewhere, I have still fulfilled my promise to myself and to some people who asked about this chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a shitty way to deal with paper deadlines though and I do not condone this way of thinking if you are making a paper to submit to a professor.

Even after death, the Rivera family was still making shoes. 

It was only then did that that tiny yet very important piece of information actually registered in Miguel’s brain.

The first time Miguel visited the Land of the Dead, he had been too busy finding Ernesto de la Cruz, reversing the the curse and saving Hector from his impending final death to give the deceased Rivera family's home and livelihood more than a passing thought. It was understandable since back then he was running on borrowed time and the Rivera family did not have any time to talk about their daily life in the land of the dead over bread and coffee, granted Miguel was too busy running away and they were too busy chasing after him. That time though, he was staying for good. He was officially a skeleton. There was no need to save himself from losing what he had already lost at that point. From what he understood, he’d be staying with them and naturally, one of the first things he started to think about  was their livelihood,daily life  and their  home. 

The Rivera shoe shop in the Land of the Dead was very similar to the one back home except a bit bigger and a lot more empty. He had almost expected the atmosphere to be as warm and familial as the one back home.  As soon as they arrived in the workshop though, Imelda had locked herself in the workshop not even bothering to welcome him or show him around. Miguel guessed that she was still angry.

On the other hand, Hector still managed to maintain his good natured aura. He had given Miguel a mini tour of the workshop, or at least the outside of it. With Imelda’s abrasive mood, the inside of the workshop was off limits. After that, he had guided Miguel through the cobblestoned yard and to the main house. He had let Miguel in the living room and was quick to go back out again when he realized as soon as they got to the living room that he had forgotten something. From his soft and vague muttering, Miguel could not make out much except for his self deprecating jokes about being too old for that. He was too in a hurry even to mention to Miguel what he had forgotten. In the end Miguel was left alone and with enough time to actually take a better look at his surroundings and ponder the everyday life of his deceased family. 

Miguel settled on the sofa in the living room and surveyed his surroundings. Their home was similar in style to his back in Santa Cecilia. It was cozy and neat. The pillows on the sofa may have been neatly fixed, and everything had its own place. There were no shoes or socks thrown anywhere or shoes toppled over after not being placed on the corner properly, a sign of Imelda’s nitpicky attitude. Miguel had to note though that even with the neatness, it was definitely lived in. A guitar was leaning on the wall to the side next to a bookshelf would books neatly lined up on them with other books that were propped on top of others. Miguel guessed that they were only read recently. His great great grandmother wouldn’t have allowed it to be left like that, especially when everything else was in its proper place..

_ Where is everyone anyway? _  The style and lived in feel of the house only reminded him of his home back in Santa Cecilia. He thought of his cousins, his tios and tias, his parents and his little sister. The workshop back home was always bustling with the sounds of hammer on sole, footsteps, children screaming and running around and more recently, with the occasional tune or melody. When his mind flitted off to that, Miguel started to realize that in the house he was staying in then, it was just too quiet.  

_Where was Tia Victoria, Tia Rosita? Papa Julio? Tio Oscar? Tio Felipe?_ He didn’t have to think long for an answer because soon after he saw the sun starting to rise from the big window to the side of the living room.  _ Of course, they are asleep.  _ He thought of his last visit to the Land of the Dead. It was night time then and he had gone back to the land of the living just before sunrise. With the lively nightlife he had experienced then, he had assumed that people in the Land of the Dead would never experience day lights like the ones back in Santa Cecilia.  _ Why would they have a sunrise spectacular if the sun never rose?  _  Miguel scolded himself for that minor bout of stupidity. For some reason, a part of him had lightened up at the minor scolding.  He had been alone for a only a few minutes, somehow, though, that was enough to make him feel a little lonely. If loneliness is left to fester, it tends to bring out the other depressing feelings with it and Miguel had found himself reflecting on the inevitability of his decision. How long was he going to feel the way he did? How long it would be before he could actually go through his afterlife without feeling so heavy and down? At that point, his body was just looking for any  small break from his reality. 

Things were starting to look bleak. They felt bleak as well. It was only natural that he turned to anything that remotely meant companionship and warmth. Miguel turned his whole body towards the window, bringing his legs behind him. He leaned on the arm rest and silently watched the sunrise that he had missed by a few seconds only a year ago. 

Miguel ended up appreciating that sun rise a little differently from other people. When watching the sunrise, many other people tend to look straight at the son or at least the horizon the sun appears from. Miguel would do the exact same thing when he wakes up early enough and had enough time to spare to watch  the sunrise back in Santa Cecilia. Watching it in the land of the dead was a little different though. He found  the changing colors in the sky and his surroundings a little more eye catching than the rising of the sun.  A sunrise in itself  was a sunrise no matter where somebody went. It is a ball yellow and orange that slides up slowly from one horizon. It was somehow magical on its own but one thing Miguel learned as he watched the sun peek over the horizon  was that the most mesmerizing magic came from how it illuminated a place. 

Santa Cecilia is a small and rustic town, the buildings almost all the same color, just varying shades of orange and brown. He had seen that same view, day and night for years and the glow of the sun bathing the rustic brown and orange hues of the town was something he had seen everyday or at least on the days when he woke up early enough to. The Land of the Dead on the other hand was a colorful place, and Miguel could have sworn that the first time he saw it was the first time he had seen so many colors in one view.  As the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, his surroundings became a little brighter.  The cobblestoned streets below started to look a little more blue and grey than purple. The buildings started to glimmer. As the light from the sun bathed the colorful buildings, MIguel almost expected the bright colors of the buildings to blend in with the brightness of the sunlight, only to be surprised by how  the orange glow of the rising sun undermined the once bright and neon colors of the buildings. 

Miguel considered sneaking out. It was one thing walking around the Land of the Dead at night. It was definitely another thing to do it in the daytime. Maybe, he would be able to find clues that can help him track Rodrigo. 

It only took him a few seconds to brush away the prodding of his already guilty conscience.  _ Sneak out! And you’re not even going to tell your Papa Hector or Mama Imelda?  _ It must have been trying to say. All Miguel had to do was remember how cold his Mama Imelda had been and how easily they had left him alone in that room to think that although they would probably miss him, they would not miss him too much.He could maybe leave a note so they would not worry too much.  Within a minute, the young boy was already starting to rack his brain cells, formulating a plan of how to maneuver the streets of the Land of the Dead alone. It was daytime, it would be much easier to maneuver the streets. He was trying to make out a path from the limited view of the skyline when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Miguel jumped instinctively. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to----” He didn’t have to finish his sentence. His mind already registered that he didn’t say anything out loud so he didn’t have to deny himself. That was only the initial reason he had stopped himself half way. The bigger reason why was because he was rendered speechless by what he saw behind him. As he turned around , he saw someone he had not seen in almost a year, more importantly someone he hasn’t seen so strong and so lucid in so long. She was staring at him with eyes that were directed right at him, instead of as if he was just part of a fevered dream or a memory of long ago. As he made eye contact with his great grandmother, he couldn’t help but try to recall when was the last time she had looked at him  with that much perception and recognition.

“Mama Coco?” Miguel’s eyes widened in shock, unconsciously mirroring the look of the face in front of him.  He felt his mouth tremble and he realized that he probably would have been tearing up at that point if skeletons had tear ducts. The last time he had seen his great grandmother so lucid was when he was still writing the names of animals under pictures of zoos for his homework back in kindergarten. She was still young enough to teach him the names of the many animals in the zoos--- el lion, el tigre, el elefante, el oso. By the time he was in grade school and learning how to write short essays about his family for his language homework, his grandmother was already spending seconds to even a minute, trying to remember the names of her  great grandchildren and her grandchildren too. She would then spend an hour or so staring into nothing, dozing off after her investing so much of her already deteriorating brain cells trying to piece together who was related to who and who did what and what happened to who in the many anecdotes she used to tell him. While Miguel was starting to learn how to piece his family together in a family tree, Mama Coco was starting to forget. It was a slow process. Miguel was close to Mama Coco but he was young. He didn’t understand the gravity of what was happening. It was a saddening experience to watch his Mama Coco gradually lose her awareness of her surroundings and succumb to the senile fate of anyone her age. It was like ripping a band-aid off slowly instead of all at once though, the pain spread out over years of naively observing the gradual deterioration  and Miguel did not understand the poignancy of that whole ordeal until he saw a lucid and very alive Mama Coco in front of him.

The flashbacks had washed over him in less than a second and before he could even understand what he did, he was hugging Mama Coco so tightly, or at least as tightly as his bones would allow.

“Miguel… What…” Mama Coco didn’t return the hug. She sounded surprised to see him as if she didn’t expect that sudden hug. “What are you doing here?” Or as if she didn’t expect him to be there at all. 

Miguel slowly loosened his arms as he realized that although the reunion was a warm one for him, Mama Coco didn’t seem so happy to see him. Before he could even pull away, he felt his great grandmother grab his shoulders and pull him at arm’s length. He watched as she quickly scanned him from head to toe again and again. Each time she looked straight at  him, she looked more and more unsure of what was happening

“Coco, looks like your Mama Imelda hasn’t cooked anything yet…”

“Did you finish the leftovers from...Miguel?”

Miguel heard the sounds of footsteps coming closer and from his peripherals, he saw the familiar shape of the twins standing by the doorway. 

“Tio Oscar, Tio Felipe...” MIguel managed to utter as he inched himself away from Coco’s grip.

“Miguel… you’re here again…” Tio Oscar said, looking too surprised to say anything more.”

“Here, here here. For good?” Tio Felipe asked, his face looking like a mixture of shock and sadness. Tio Oscar soon mirrored the same face, that small fact dawning on him a few seconds after his twin. 

“This must be a mistake… We’re supposed to know about this… The department of family reunions would call us if anything like this happens right?” Coco said looking back at her two uncles. She looked back to Miguel pleadingly. “Why are you here?” She looked like she was begging to hear a certain answer from him, a reassurance that this was all just a sick joke that Miguel felt almost pressured to lie to her and tell her that it was shoe paint or he was cursed again as ludicrously illogical as it sounded. Instead, he did the next best thing he could do and looked away silently and pulled his jacket up, knowing exactly what they would be seeing underneath. No skin, just bones.

The two twins gasped from behind Coco. “Imelda might know what to do… Or we could ask  Hector…”

“What are you all doing here? No one even bothered to cook breakfast…” Tia Victoria entered the room, looking almost annoyed before she, too made eye contact with Miguel. Her eyes widened. “Miguel! What are you…”She stopped herself and turned to her mother. “Mama Coco… What’s going on? When did he…”

All eyes were trained on Miguel and all he wanted to do was disappear. He almost regretted having watched the sunrise long enough to be discovered by his great grandmother, even if it meant not having had that reunion with his Mama Coco. He should have snuck out as soon as he was left alone.

Death wasn’t supposed to make him feel this horrible for choosing to cross. 

**Somewhere between Life and Death**

 

Even after death, the Rivera family still ate meals together. It was not something he had totally not believed.  He had seen Hector drink a shot and had seen the skeletons indulge in snacks but the phrase “dead people eat too” was never an explicit phrase in his brain. With that, he never considered a family meal with the dead Riveras to be an actual occurrence, if he did though before that, he would never have expected it to be as awkward as the one he was experiencing then and there. 

It was Miguel’s first meal with the deceased Rivera family so one thing he was not aware of  was the unwritten law in the Rivera household that Imelda makes breakfast. If it wasn't Imelda making breakfast, it was Coco. At that point in time, Imelda was far too distracted by current happenings to have even remembered to make breakfast. Coco was still too shocked by that recent revelation to even think up what go eat and the responsibility of cooking that days breakfast fell on the most level headed in the room Tia Victoria. She has never been one for cooking seeing as the responsibility of cooking fell on Mama Elena as soon as she was old enough to safely work a stove.That left the family with the only breakfast Tia Victoria could manage, a breakfast that was out of the refrigerator and into the plate in less than 15 minutes, a very plain fried eggs with bread. 

Fortunately though, everyone was too preoccupied with other things to consider the banality of the breakfast. Unfortunately, this issue that the Rivera family was preoccupied with was far too serious to have anything that could be considered fortunate. 

Miguel in particular could not find anything good about the situation at hand. The past few minutes, he had watched his Mama Coco make her way to her the workshop two strides at a time and rap on the door. He had then watched the salty exchange between mother and daughter. Mama Coco looked angry about the deception but at the same time  desperately pleading for answers while Mama Imelda remained cold, insisting that her daughter would not understand what was happening. 

They were talking as if he wasn’t there and Miguel only felt more tempted to just leave the house. 

As Mama Coco calmed down and Tia Victoria served the food, the situation did not improve. The family was too quiet and too tense over breakfast. Tia Rosita and Papa Julio snuck glances at Miguel but looked hesitant to ask anything of him. His Mama Imelda still looked cold and distracted. She was eating her food much faster that she could have been eating them two spoonfuls at a time. 

Miguel glanced at Mama Coco who was silently eating her food. Their eyes had met and Mama Coco looked like she wanted to say something and stopped herself, the heaviness and the tension of the room, making it hard for anyone to even just break the silence that reigned over them. 

That responsibility ended up falling on the most ignorant. After a few minutes of silent and very uncomfortable eating, the door to the dining room creaked open and Hector entered the room, his movements naturally quicker, obviously still unaware of the tension in the room.

“You wouldn't believe what I managed to get from customs.”

Miguel would have wanted to gasp in surprise or just voice his astonishment at seeing the object Hector held out for the family to see. Miguel though was aware of the tension in the atmosphere and could not manage more than a jaw drop. 

“Hector, a guitar is the last thing we should be thinking about.”  Imelda said coldly, and sounding a little exasperated as she broke the uncomfortable  silence.

“No no, you don’t understand, this is the one from the hospital, the one left by Miguel’s bed. They found it on MIguel when he crossed.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”  Imelda asked. Her voice starting to lean more from a cold and emotionless tone to one of pure exasperation. “Oh who cares, if he just died, at least he has a memento to be help him remember how it felt to be alive? This is not what we’re after Hector.” 

“Imelda. That wasn’t what I was thinking when I got this… Are you accusing me of not caring?”

As the two argued, they did not even bother trying to acknowledge the presence of the other members of the Rivera family who was just watching the exchange silently. Miguel was starting to feel a little left out and frustrated. It was the same way back home. Adult talk was adult talk and nobody ever bothered to explain what they were talking about to him, even if it was about him. If Miguel was a few years older, he may have decided to step up and say something about it. He was beaten to it. 

He heard a slam on the table and a clatter of glass a few seats away. He looked to the sound to see Coco standing up. From his seat, he couldn’t properly see her face, but her tone was his enough for him to know that she was definitely not taking this lightly. “You’re talking about this as if I have no right to know what’s happening. This is my great grandson. I watched him grow up. Don’t you think I have a right to know what is happening?” 

“This is not your problem Coco. This is not your mistake. We will fix this.” Imelda said, as if she was talking to a girl who had only lived less than an eighth of her life, not an old lady who had more than eighty years of experience in the land of the living. 

The family argument was only between the first three Riveras and the Tios and Tias were quick to leave the dining room after finishing their meals. Tia Rosita had put her hand on Miguel and told him he could go to the living room or to the workshop if it was starting to make him uncomfortable. 

It was more than uncomfortable for Miguel though, and he found himself frozen on his seat, trembling in anger as he watched the three fight. The argument felt like it was going in circles and the words were just mixing in Miguel’s ears. Hector was insisting that he was definitely doing something. Imelda was scolding her husband for his laziness and lack of drive while telling Coco she had no right to know what was happening while Coco pleaded to know what was happening. The center of the whole topic though was Miguel yet ironically, none of them even bothered to just glance to the side even a little a bit, acknowledging the existence of the young boy.

Someway through the argument, Hector had propped the guitar on the wall, as if he didn’t want the instrument to be part of the argument anymore. What he probably didn’t think about was that he put the guitar in an angle which would be a tad more difficult to keep an eye on. 

Miguel was angry, ignored and was seeing a conveniently placed guitar he could just grab and run away with, a good and convenient combination. He could easily just run for the guitar, out of the house and into the streets. 

_ They wouldn’t care anyway.  _ Miguel thought. He glanced at each family member one by one, hoping at least one of them would make eye contact with him, acknowledge his existence, anything that would make him think twice about what he was going to do next.

It was as if the three were in their own world though and before Miguel could even think twice, his body was on autopilot. 

He ran, grabbed the guitar and escaped to the recently illuminated streets of the Land of the Dead. The view was new and beautiful, a far cry from what he saw everyday back in Santa Cecilia, maybe if he wasn’t in a hurry, he would have stopped and appreciated how the colors of his surroundings gleamed under the sun that had only recently risen.  Miguel was running without looking back though and he was blind to the natural beauties around him. 

And maybe even a little deaf to the voices that were calling after him.    
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you again to for all the support for this story. Only recently backurapika/ donteatacowman (I think that's her name) drew a mini fan art for my story. It's somewhere in my tumblr blog, lemme tag it.... SOON...
> 
> I'm actually late for class right now but I wanted to post this before anything else as a birthday gift to myself. My birthday wasn't the best one. I had 10-5 class, no breaks, no time to reply to any greetings on that day, no time to celebrate with the hecticness (is that even a word) of that day in general only to be surprised at the end of the day by a facebook message from my idol and a signed memorabilia my friends went through so much trouble to get. They managed to convince my idol (a local celebrity) to greet me on messenger and write out a small message for me on a piece of memorabilia which I'm probably gonna frame. I'm an embarrassing piece of shit but I legit teared up at this. I ended up for a while talking to this local celebrity on fb after she messaged me. Through it all, the hectic day ended beautifully and I had to share it. I'm still on a high with what happened but that was all the inspiration I needed to write a little more than necessary. 
> 
> Moral of the story: A whirlwind of emotions makes great inspiration when writing
> 
> Tell me what you think! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! Any recs for good Coco fics?


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